SlytherinFree Zone
by hrhrionastar
Summary: What if the post-Voldemort Wizarding world decided to get rid of Slytherin House, the root of all their problems, once and for all? Features the Sorting Hat, a new Headmistress, and a Slytherin Potter. Sorry, ex-Slytherin Potter.
1. In Which a Decision is Reached

**In Which a Decision is Reached**

"All those in favor of the permanent abolition of Slytherin House?"

Ernie Macmillan's hand is first to hit the air. He's the youngest member of the Wizengamot since the 1600s, pre-Statute of Secrecy, and his expression is one of grim satisfaction. Others follow—outspoken Newblood supporters, even some members of the old, corrupt pureblood core of the court.

Teddy Lupin, subbing as Minister's scribe for the day (Maisie Wilkins wasn't feeling well) notes down the numbers with professional accuracy, but a sinking heart. His almost-sister and cousin-by-marriage Lily is not going to be happy about this.

"And those against?"

People who didn't lose any close relatives in the war. A few brave Slytherin alumni, all very prominent and respectable members of society, or they never would've gotten onto the new court. Teddy feels disloyal not raising his hand, even though he doesn't get a vote. Grandromeda will be disappointed in him.

He tallies the votes—it only takes a second—and hands the paper over to Kingsley, wondering if this was the Minister's idea, or whether he couldn't hold the anti-Slytherin, pro-Newblood Liberation party in check anymore.

Kingsley reads the total, expression unfathomable. Then he says, in his usual calm and soothing tones, "Very well. Slytherin House shall be abolished."

* * *

"But what about the Board of Governors?" frowns Victoire that night. Absently, she strokes their eight-month-old son's back soothingly.

"Kingsley's issuing them some sort of mandate. I'm not too clear on the details." Teddy paces the kitchen, bewildered at the speed with which things are happening. "I know the Liberation Party's been pushing this ever since the Final Battle, but I always figured they were just making trouble. Everyone knows their main goal's always been equal rights for Newbloods. But this—!"

"Is it really such a bad thing?" Vic asks. "I mean, Slytherin. Maybe it is time to get rid of all that pureblood prejudice and cruelty."

"Slytherin's hardly the source of all that stuff," Teddy protests, quick to defend the House Grandromeda and Lily belong to. "Besides, pureblood prejudice is everywhere. People are basically saying, if it weren't for Slytherin, You-Know-Who would've never gotten to power, and everything'd be sunshine and daisies. Which is stupid."

"I don't know," says Vic. "Maybe You-Know-Who wouldn't've had such a huge, automatic powerbase. Like Dad says the standard Slytherin on the street in those days could hardly stand up to the Heir of their House's Founder. So maybe it's time to get away from all that historical weirdness, and actually judge people more fairly."

"How is getting rid of Slytherin, and keeping Gryffindor, going to be treating people more fairly?" Teddy objects. "I just—I'm sorry, Vic. Here I am, going on and on about this stuff, and it's your birthday."

Vic laughs self-consciously. "Twenty-one—I can't believe it!"

"Ma-ma," Harry Arthur Lupin says sternly, interrupting his parents. He's been gnawing on a strand of Vic's pink hair, and Teddy suspects he's hungry.

The little family is quickly distracted from talk of a Ministry that none of them quite understand, and the Slytherin debate is postponed for some future date.

* * *

**Abolition Movement Succeeds At Last**

Rowena Wheeler

_Yesterday, in a stunning and universally applauded move, the Wizengamot voted almost unanimously to abolish Slytherin House. The vote took place on the 22nd anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, something political experts assure us is no coincidence. _

_"A lot of people feel it's time," said youngest member of the Wizengamot and veteran of the Great War, Ernie MacMillan. "Slytherin detracts from the Wizarding World's cohesion as a communal, respectful whole."_

_When asked about the date of the decision, Mr. MacMillan refused to say for certain if it was more than a coincidence. However, Mrs. Dulac of Surry was more forthcoming: "It's obvious, isn't it? Meant as a slap in the face for all those nasty, lying Slytherin criminals! And about time, too!"_

_Indeed, the Abolition Movement has been gaining momentum in recent years. Magical History expert Madame Peel states that "Never has there been more hostility toward the existence of a Hogwarts House. These are interesting times we live in."_

_Small wonder the Wizarding world has woken to the potential hazards of Slytherin House, after the infamous Sorting of Harry Potter's daughter (reported on in this newspaper, September 3, 2019) and the rumors that she and Vulpecula Malfoy, of Gryffindor, were exchanged at birth. After all, if the Chosen One's own daughter can be corrupted by that nest of vipers, is it any wonder that people feel threatened? _

_The Wizengamot has at last come to its senses. Goodbye, Slytherin House—and good riddance!_

* * *

'Re-Sort an entire quarter of the student body?' The Sorting Hat's voice is frantic, echoing in Headmistress Beaumont's ears.

_This is news to me also, you know,_ she thinks acerbically at him. She isn't sure why she thinks of the Sorting Hat as a him, exactly, but it makes things easier than referring to him as an it. And he was Godric Gryffindor's Hat, after all.

"So, Headmistress, we've determined on an expeditious plan we hope you'll consider," continues Dave Montague smoothly. Apparently he's the Board of Governors' designated representative. Aglaia Beaumont suspects they've chosen him because of his status as a Slytherin alumnus. "All that is necessary is for you to send all the current Slytherin students a letter requesting their presence at school on July 31st, whereupon they'll each be Sorted into a different House."

'They expect me—they actually expect me!—to Sort all the Slytherins into different Houses? As though I hadn't put each and every one of them in Slytherin for a reason! I don't pick and choose for my own amusement, you know!' the Hat complains bitterly.

_Funny_, thinks Headmistress Beaumont, recalling her own Sorting_, I always thought you did._ That shuts him up for the moment, she's pleased to note.

"Of course, Mr. Montague," she says automatically, smiling and refraining from saying she thinks he is a manipulative, opportunistic bastard. Slytherins have no House loyalty, none at all.

"Excellent," he beams. "I'll tell the Board you've agreed to do everything possible to make this transition smooth and efficient."

"Very well," she says, inclining her head in a clear dismissal. She is feeling the beginnings of a headache behind her eyes, and she really has to think…

As soon as the door closes behind Montague the Sorting Hat's diatribe begins. 'An unequal division of students—this is an outrage! I know how to do my job, you know. Every single Slytherin belongs there. And now what will they do? No matter where I put them next, they'll be outsiders, shunned because they lack a unified front! Slytherin has always been the most isolated, and now I'm supposed to outright violate the wishes of the Founders? This is completely intolerable!

What makes it even worse is, some of them will be able to handle it, sure—the Ravenclaw!Slytherins, like Altaira and Scorpius Malfoy, so quietly intelligent, the Gryffindor!Slytherins like Lottie Rosier, fierce and optimistic, the Hufflepuff!Slytherins like Hermogenes Bulstrode, serious loyalty and a not-too-shabby work ethic…but what about the Slytherin!Slytherins? The ones who honestly can't fit anywhere else? Oh, they'll pretend, that's the virtue of the cunning plans and the careful spying, but they'll be miserable, and they'll torture everyone around them! Lily Potter, poor child—where else can I put _her_?

You know even when Slytherin left the school, the other Founders never seriously considered not teaching his students, or trying to assimilate them into some false sense of good cheer. I've been doing this for a thousand years at least, and never have I met with such injustice and intolerance! Which, as you can imagine—or perhaps you can't—is saying a considerable amount (think of the Spanish Inquisition—not that it's relevant), and now, to just cut one of the Founders' legacies out of the curriculum—'

At this point, he relapses into incoherence, and Aglaia Beaumont pulls the Hat forcibly off her head and sets him back in his case. It's the only way to properly talk to him, but wearing the Hat to this meeting was a nuisance. She's sure she saw Montague give her a few weird looks.

With the Hat safely several feet away, she sinks into her chair behind the heavy desk Headmasters and mistresses have worked at for generations, and kneads her temples. Ah, blessed silence.

She ought to have known it wouldn't last.

"It seems," drawls an unmistakable voice from behind her; she jumps. "That. Slytherin's popularity. Has reached an. All-time. Low."

Aglaia whirls around and shakes a menacing finger at the portrait of a sallow-faced man with a hook nose and a sneer permanently in place. "Don't you start with me, Severus Snape!" she threatens. "Can't you see I'm having an absolutely horrendous day?" Distractedly, she begins massaging her temples again—the headache doubles every time she thinks about how on earth she's going to 'integrate' the Slytherins into the rest of the school, where they're going to sleep, what to tell the new students, what to tell the seventh-years, who will all be furious, what to tell the Gryffindors, who will all surely object to having even ex-Slytherins in the same House with them and who will likely not shut up about it,_ ever_…

"Don't worry about it, Aglaia," says the large portrait beside Snape and right behind the Headmistress's chair. His blue eyes twinkle over his half-moon glasses. "They'll realize their mistake in time."


	2. In Which the Slytherins are Integrated

**In Which the Slyths are 'Integrated' into the Rest of the School**

"I still don't see why we had to show up a whole day early," complains Lily Luna Potter to her friends Luther Dagworth and Vulpecula Malfoy. "I mean, my parents work, you know. And my brothers aren't getting on the train until tomorrow."

"Yeah," shrugs Vulpecula. "Mom and Dad didn't fancy showing up on the platform for all the 'peons' to gape at, twice in one year. Though I probably could've got Grammy Cissy to Apparate me over tomorrow."

"Don't you two read the papers?" sighs Luther long-sufferingly. "They're getting rid of Slytherin! Forever, if you believe Fudge—why he got on the Wizengamot, honestly—and that Wheeler woman."

"Ugh," Vulpecula shudders theatrically. "She caught me alone in Diagon Alley when I was five, and I still haven't recovered from the emotional trauma. Or the headlines."

"Yeah, my dad says she's worse than Rita Skeeter—" Lily begins absently. Then her eyes narrow, and she whirls to face Luther. "They're getting rid of Slytherin House?" she exclaims in shocked and furious accents. "Why?"

Luther shrugs. "'Cause we're all the spawn of Satan, and if What's-His-Name had just been drowned at birth, the world would be such a better place, so that must mean that every single Slytherin ever would be as wicked as him if they'd only got the smarts and charm enough to attract proper minions," he says matter-of-factly.

"Don't I know it!" seconds Vulpecula, laughing. "But that's not news—folks like Fudge and Wheeler and MacMillan and my Aunt Daphne (who was actually in Slytherin, but she's covered it up brilliantly) have always claimed Slyths are The Spawn of Satan. The question is, why now?"

Lily scowls. "I don't care why. We've got to stop it! If they think they can chuck out _my House_ on account of some stupid phobia about wars and wickedness—or for any reason at all—I'll make sure they live to regret it!"

"Careful. Attitude like that, and they'll make you room with the Gryffs," Luther says cynically.

"Room with? Gryffs—you mean my brother, and my cousins, and _Dominique,_ and that whiny little idiot Simpkins?" Lily hadn't thought she could get any more furious, but that was then. This was now.

"Ooh, that's awkward," Vulpecula comments. "I mean, no offense, but you and Sally the Silly Simpkins living in the same room is only going to lead to murder. Probably hers."

"Well," sighs Luther long-sufferingly, as their horseless carriage pulls up in front of Hogwarts Castle. "On their own heads be it."

* * *

"Potter, Lily!"

'You again, huh?'

_Is this a travesty of the entire Sorting process as laid down to you by the Hogwarts Founders, or this just some ridiculous torture the Powers-That-Be thought up on account of being much too bored with the eternal chess game of life?_

'Certainly the former; possibly the latter.'

_Couldn't you just refuse to Sort me anywhere else? I mean, you're the Sorting Hat!_

'I wish I could. But you realize that if I refuse to Re-Sort you, you'll be suspended, and if I refuse to Re-Sort everyone, they'll expel all the Slytherin students on some trumped-up charge. Neither will win you what you desire.'

_Fine. Then what will?_

'Let's see…I could send you to Hufflepuff, but you'd torture them unmercifully…I could send you to Gryffindor, but they_'_d torture you unmercifully…And Ravenclaw would sap your self-confidence until you struggled twice as hard to learn material half as difficult as what you've already mastered. Difficult, very difficult…'

_Just help me. I may not be Slytherin's Heir, but I'm not going to stand by and let his House disappear off the face of the planet. By Salazar! Wasn't Fudge in Slytherin? I swear I read that somewhere…Hypocrite._

'A harsh, but on the whole just, observation. You are very brave, Miss Potter. And your spirit is remarkable. Do not allow anyone to sap your confidence. If there is a way to save Slytherin House, I am convinced that you will find it. Although it's not your real home, I hope you will find allies to your cause in—

"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

"Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no," moans Rich Hamilton the night of September 1st. "Slytherins? Sitting with us at breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Sneering at us over their subscriptions to Evil!INC? Sleeping in our dormitories? Why, Godric, why?" He demands of the ceiling. "What have I ever done to have that bloke Summerby, not to mention Higgins, living with me? What have I done to deserve this? No, really, I want to know!"

"Well," Lily Potter drawls from the other end of the Gryffindor table, glaring at the fifth year. "You_ are_ a bumbling idiot."

"Hiding behind your famous name, snake?" Hamilton taunts. "Your father may've saved the Wizarding world, but you're a pathetic second act. I heard you and V Malfoy were exchanged at birth—though that still doesn't explain her predilection for your society."

Lily leans forward and hisses, under the general chatter of the crowded Great Hall, "If it's such a burden sharing with us Slyths, why don't you do something about it?"

Vulpecula laughs. "He wouldn't dare."

In Gryffindor, those are fighting words.

Hamilton flushed bright red, and said belligerently, "I _will _do something about it! I'll get you lot thrown out, you frightful, sneaky, evil little girl! You and all your Slytherin partners in crime! And your pet Malfoy too!"

"Shut up about my sister, Hamilton," says Albus Potter, fourth-year Gryff, quietly.

"What're you going to do, _Asp_?" Hamilton jeers. "Especially without your brainy cousin What's-Her-Name to protect you!"

"Oh, Hamilton," sighs sixth-year Roxane Weasley, getting up and leaning against the table. She shakes her head at him. "I think it's time you realized—there's always another cousin."

Hamilton looks surprisingly intimidated, but is saved from having to respond by the arrival from the Staff Table of Professor Joshi-Yap, the new Potions instructor.

"Is there a problem?" She asks sternly.

"Problem?" echoes Roxane, wide-eyed.

"I do have a problem actually, Professor," Hamilton says smugly. "I have a problem with Slytherins eating at my table and sharing my dormitory. You see, I'm allergic to lying, sneaky gits."

"That's right," pipes up Harry Wood, a fourth-year. "You can't expect us to put up with Slytherins! It's unconscientousable!"

At this, V and Lily exchange a laughing look, and Louis Weasley, Head Boy and Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, says mildly, "I think you mean _unconscionable_, Wood."

"He's right, though," argues Head Girl Melanie Jordan. "This is just ridiculous. What was the Wizengamot thinking?"

"Gryffs and Slyths, living together…" sings Vulpecula, grinning.

The other House tables (Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw—the Slytherin table has been moved out of the Hall) are beginning to notice the commotion. Scorpius Malfoy, from his position beside Rose Weasley at the Ravenclaw table, frowns inquiringly at his little sister Vulpecula. Hermogenes Bulstrode, newly of Hufflepuff, just looks miserable. He's expecting another Howler tomorrow morning.

"That's enough," says Professor Joshi-Yap. "Out of all of you. You—" she points to Hamilton. "Detention." He opens his mouth. "Another word, and it'll be a week of detentions. The rest of you, please confine your political discussions to your time outside this school." She glares for another moment, and no one says anything. Satisfied, she walks back to the staff table.

"Students," calls Headmistress Beaumont. The Hall grows quiet. "Welcome back. As you will have noticed, there are a few changes this year. Firstly, we are delighted to welcome Professor Sable Joshi-Yap, who will be our new Potions Mistress." Polite applause. Scowls from the Gryffindor table. Lily claps extra hard, to make up for jerks like Hamilton. She's already sure she'll like Professor Joshi-Yap. "We're also pleased to welcome Professor Pyrrhus Quirke, who will be taking over Non-Magical Studies." Less applause. Professor Quirke looks too much like a zealous reformer for Lily's taste. There's a pause. Then Professor Beaumont continues, hands gripping the podium tightly. "The Wizengamot has decided—and the Board of Governors has agreed—that the time for Slytherin House is past. Whatever your personal politics, I urge you all to remember that you are peers, and, as such, treat your new dormmates with respect. I need hardly add that the education of each and every student here is important. Our mission has not changed." Small pause, during which people digest this. "Furthermore, the Slytherin dormitories, and all of the dungeons save for the Potions classrooms, are hereby declared off-limits to all students. And now let us say goodnight!"

Chairs scrape the floor. Lily gulps. This is the part of the evening she's been dreading most. Predictably, she's been assigned to the same room as Silly Sally Simpkins. Her only comfort is Vulpecula, who brings her over to say goodnight to new Ravenclaw Luther Dagworth.

"Get a load of the way the Sorting Hat hummed the part about Slytherin?" he asks, grinning. "I think we've got our first ally right there."

"It as good as told me to save Slytherin," agrees Lily. "And I mean to do so." She looks fierce.

"This," Luther says, not mincing words—he gestures round the Hall at the disheartened former Slytherins and their new, unwilling Housemates, "is an outrage. Lily, can you believe you'll actually be trying to win points for those lousy Gryffs? Present company excepted, of course."

"I'm still in shock," Lily answers. "But I have got a bit of a plan. After all, no one here likes this at all—it's only those idiotic grown-ups at the Ministry. And you know what they say…"

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Vulpecula finishes.

Luther looks unconvinced. "Even that bastard Hamilton?"

Neither girl has an answer for that.


	3. In Which a New Player in the Game

**Chapter Three: In Which a New Player in the Game is Revealed**

* * *

**Duel in the Dungeons**

Melanie Jordan, Editor-in-Chief of the Phoenix Feather

_This week there was yet another mass-duel outside the dungeons formerly known as the Slytherin dormitories, and several students were sent to the Hospital Wing. Tension between the students formerly known as Slytherins and the rest of the school is rife. And some people aren't content to discuss the situation like rational people._

_"I think it's stupid," said Ravenclaw third-year Rochelle Rider. "I mean, I know the socio-political issues are really hot right now, but aren't we supposed to be united in our mission to learn, instead of fighting all the time? I reckon the Founders'd be ashamed if they could see us now." Indeed, the fact is, we are not getting anywhere with all this infighting. _

_However, Gryffindor fifth-year Rich Hamilton states, "This is war. I don't care what everybody says about the Battle of Hogwarts, this is real. We're fighting for our way of life, here! These Slyths just storming in and taking away what it means to be a Gryffindor! They have no right!"_

_In contrast, Ravenclaw seventh-year Tairi Malfoy would argue, "We're not doing anything wrong. We're just trying to adjust to something that, frankly, is really above and beyond the call of duty. And we have as much right to be in this school as anyone else who was never branded a highly undesirable member of society."_

_In short, everyone, if we don't do something, this school is going to be torn apart by conflicting factions. We have a responsibility to keep each other safe, whether we get along or not. Duels are always reprehensible, and more so when we're just doing it to ourselves. Remember, the more united we stand, the better we manage as a whole._

* * *

Dear Mom and Dad,

I'm starting a grass-roots resistance movement to try and overthrow the Wizengamot's decision. I've even got us a faculty advisor, Professor Joshi-Yap. She's great. After all Al's horror stories, and then last year's debacle, we've finally got a Potions Professor who knows her stuff.

Anyway, I'm having some trouble—there's this whole battle going on between Hamilton's group of Gryffindor thugs, and pretty much all the Slytherins—we've got to defend ourselves, and it's a bit dangerous, walking around the castle on your own. You'd think they'd come to their senses and join forces with me, since that way we might be able to get a repeal faster. But whatever.

Professor Parkinson-Bulstrode's really mad, too. She refuses to give out points anymore because she can't be Head of a House that doesn't exist. She's still perfectly willing to take them away, though.

Sally Simpkins has got to be the most idiotic member of the human race in mankind's existence. Do you know what she did the other day? She said the password for getting_ into_ the Gryff Common Room when she was trying to go _out._ Imbecile. I quite like that word. Vulpecula taught it to me.

Anyway, give my love to James, lucky bastard—_he_'s graduated. And if any advice on how to overthrow evil, blind injustice in its purest form occurs to you, feel free to owl me.

All my love,

Lily

* * *

Dear Lily,

Your mother and I recommend not getting into too much trouble—and staying out of dark corridors. Remember, it's not your responsibility to convince the Wizengamot they're wrong. I'm sure it'll become obvious without your help.

Your mother and I (and your Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron, and Aunt Luna) all sympathize completely with your plight, and, if you're absolutely set on your campaign, we urge you to talk it all over with your Uncle Neville. He'll be happy to advise you.

James is fine—he's doing great at _Transfiguration Today_. He sends his love.

Your Uncle Ron wants me to add that he wishes you wouldn't repeat anything you've learnt from a Malfoy.

Your Aunt Hermione wants me to tell you he's just being a git.

Your Uncle Ron would like to know what your Aunt Hermione thinks she's doing, encouraging you to be friendly with the daughter of one of our worst archrivals. And a pureblood at that.

Your Aunt Hermione thinks your Uncle Ron shouldn't blame the child for the sins of the father, and that he—

Your mother wants me to stop writing down your Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron's inanities. She also would like to say that, whatever House you're in, we will love you, a statement I wholeheartedly endorse.

Be careful, Lily—and good luck.

Love,

Mom and Dad

* * *

"Mr. Quirke. Please, come on in."

"Sir, I'm honored to be here."

Professor Pyrrhus Quirke, newly of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stares around at the motley collection of wizards seated around the conference table. He recognizes several prominent members of the Wizengamot, and then at least half the Board of Governors…He gulps.

"Sit down, Quirke," invites a smiling Dave Montague.

He sits.

"So…" Montague continues. Apparently he's the designated spokesperson. "How do you find dear old Hogwarts?"

"Well," says Quirke, nervous but determined. "The castle is a shambles, sirs, it's absolutely disgraceful!"

"Filch getting on a bit, I daresay," interjects a tall, dark man whose name, unless Quirke is much mistaken, is Something-Old-Blood-And-Ridiculous Selwyn.

"I was referring," Quirke continues pointedly, "to the shocking moral deterioration of these young people! Not to mention the excess license permitted non-Newblood students! It's reprehensible!" In his eyes shines the light of a true fanatic. Not for nothing is Pyrrhus Quirke Professor of _Non-Magical_ Studies.

"Yes," says du Winters, a senior member of the Wizengamot, distastefully. "But we are really more interested in the reception of the Abolition Act."

"Oh, that," says Quirke. "Of course, sir. Well, there's an underground resistance to it, of course—"

"Of course," nods Montague. "Couldn't expect the Slytherin students to take it lying down, now, could we?"

"No, sir," Quirke admits, recalling with a shudder a few hair-raising and public incidents. "But I meant the Gryffindors, actually—"

"So, they're resisting, are they?" du Winters says, smiling nostalgically.

"Not to worry," Ernie MacMillan adds portentously. "All we have to do is wait them out. Another seven years, and no one will be able to say they began their career in Slytherin." He smiles like the cat who ate the pixy at the thought.

"Yes," Quirke says patiently, privately agreeing that the Abolition Act was the right idea, and giving MacMillan his due for arranging it, "but—"

"That's right," Montague nods around at his fellow Governors, and inclines his head majestically to du Winters. "Another seven years, and the Dark Lord's—excuse me, You-Know-Who's—Hogwarts House will be a matter of history. We have much to be thankful for in this great age." He looks around at everyone with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Naturally," purrs Selwyn, and Quirke could swear he hears the faintest hint of sarcasm. "We must lead the Wizarding world into a new era of peace and prosperity."

"But, sir—" Quirke starts again, thinking of the Dungeon Duels and the very public and increasingly difficult to control violence at Hogwarts. "Really, don't you think—" He isn't sure what he's going to suggest, but one thing is certain: the presence of those good-for-nothing pureblood snakes in their dormitories is driving Gryffindor House in particular to mayhem and misery. If only they could just chuck all the students formerly known as Slytherins out of school, and perhaps into Azkaban, all their problems, Quirke feels, would be solved.

"You're doing an excellent job, Quirke, really," says Montague, getting up and thumping him on the back. "We couldn't be more pleased that we decided to reinstate the job of Hogwarts High Inquisitor—strictly unbeknownst to the press, of course."

"Of course," echoes Quirke faintly. He gets up, weighted down by the inevitability of it all.

"Thank you, Mr. Quirke, for your presence here today and your assurances that the Abolition Act is being so well-received," du Winters says smoothly.

Quirke opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

"Yes," says a sweet, girlish voice from the shadows. She leans forward, and Quirke gasps. He was so sure Dolores Umbridge was no longer a member of the Wizengamot, the Ministry, the Board of Governors…what is she doing here? "Thank you for your report, Mr. Quirke. It's just so lovely to know that everything is proceeding exactly according to plan."

She smiles; Quirke flees.


	4. In Which Plans are Made

**Chapter 4: In Which Plans are Made**

"This meeting of Slytherin's Army is hereby called to order," Lily Potter drawls from her position slumped in an armchair in what was once the Slytherin Common Room.

Around her, knots of students gradually hush, although quite a few of the older ones look a little disgruntled at having to answer to a mere second-year—even if she_ is _a Potter.

Professor Joshi-Yap leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, frowning. Vulpecula and Luther are each perched on an arm of Lily's chair. They look like bookends, framing her.

"So…" Lily says. "What's the update on our situation? Magnus? Tairi? Bree?"

Seventh-year Magnus Yaxley adjusts his glasses and speaks. "The Ministry're all gits." He says succinctly. "They think Integration's going great, since they don't have any other information. And apparently there's some top-secret group whose idea the whole thing was."

Hermogenes Bulstrode starts to raise his hand, glances around at his fellow former-Slytherins, lowers his hand, and says timidly, "I thought Abolition'd been in the works since the Battle of Hogwarts. I mean, lots of people think it's a good idea. Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Lee Jordan, the radio announcer…loads of important types."

"So why now?" demands Albus, roped unwillingly into Slytherin's Army along with Rose, Louis, Roxane, and Hugo. Lily isn't above using family connections, or the intriguing Bat-Bogey Hex she finally got James to teach her last summer.

Tairi Malfoy rolls her eyes. "We know 'why now.' It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Enlighten me," growls Al.

"It's Lily," Tairi asserts matter-of-factly.

"You mean it's her fault I'm stuck in the same room as Hamilton?" complains Tyler Higgins bitterly.

"Not directly," Louis speaks up, quick to come to his baby cousin's defense. "It's just, her being Sorted into Slytherin was a slap in the face for people who worship the ground her father walks on. They reckon there must've been a mistake. You can't have a _Potter_ in Slytherin, can you?"

V smiles sharply. "Not anymore."

There's a small silence.

"Tairi? Bree? I'm waiting," Lily says imperiously from her makeshift throne. She doesn't seem to notice the whispers. Let them talk. If this is her fault, at least she's the one that's going to fix it. They have no idea how hard it is, being a Slytherin Potter. Being a Gryffindor Potter is even worse.

"Hamilton's group is getting more violent," Tairi says regretfully. "And they've started targeting first-years—anyone they say would've been in Slytherin, which, in practice, is anyone they don't like. So all of you who've got younger siblings might want to watch out for 'em. Otherwise, it's the way it's been since the beginning of the school year. The 'Puffs and the 'Claws are feeling the strain, too. Some of 'em side with us, some with Hamilton—most just want to stay out of it."

"Sensible," approves Scorpius. Al glares at him.

"Bree?" Lily starts, but the older girl is already speaking.

"I've heard things," Bree Urquhart says slowly, chewing absently on a strand of long dark hair. "I think Hamilton's planning something for Halloween. You know this place isn't going to be safe for meetings once everyone gets to Hogsmeade and stocks up at WWW. I think we should find a new meeting place. Our wards won't hold forever."

"That makes sense," agrees Lily thoughtfully.

"We're abandoning our own Common Room?" protests Summerby. "Won't that mean they've won?"

"Just a temporary setback," breathes Lily, "And I think I know just where we can set up shop." Her dark eyes gleam for a moment.

"Just make sure you conform to school rules," says Professor Joshi-Yap wryly. "I won't be party to anything…_justly _forbidden."

"Professor," protests Vulpecula, opening her eyes wide. "Don't you trust us?"

Silence.

"Me neither," mutters Al Potter _sotto voce_.

* * *

**HALLOWEEN BASH!**

**Bring your friends! Bring your dormmates! Bring your classmates! Bring your enemies! And be prepared to be scared out of your mind! **

**October 31, 2020; After the Halloween Feast; Dungeons.**

**Be there or disappear! **

* * *

"Did you get one of these?" Louis asks Melanie, waving the bright orange flyer.

The Head Girl and Chief Editor of Hogwarts' only newspaper, the _Phoenix Feather_, scowls up at him.

"Yeah, I got one. Stupid, isn't it? Anonymous, of course—whoever wrote it's probably looking to escape their everyday geekdom and have a bit of fun in the forbidden dungeons. Somebody's not taking their safety too seriously."

"You think we've really got something to worry about there?"

"Didn't you hear about Anne du Winters? She's a Hufflepuff, her grandfather's on the Wizengamot…a stray curse yesterday hit her as she was leaving Potions class. Madame Frost, you know, Pomphrey's assistant, told me they're thinking about sending her to St. Mungo's. Apparently it was a nasty curse."

"Do they know who fired it?"

"Nope. Could have been any of them—Hamilton, or even your cousin."

"It wasn't Lily."

"Whatever you say."

"No, really—you should come to the meetings. You'll like her."

"What meetings?"

"We're trying to get Slytherin House reinstated. And stop Hamilton and Goldstein and Corner and the others from killing anyone."

"Reinstate Slytherin? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Rather keep things the way they are?"

"You've got a point there…how can I help?"

"Thanks, Melanie. You're a good friend."

* * *

"I was thinking," Tairi says later, once almost everyone has gone. Playful green light dances over the walls of the Common Room. Only Lily's inner, inner circle remain. "We should start practicing extra Defense Against the Dark Arts. Like what your Dad did during the war. Hamilton's not too bad with a wand, and the seventh-year Gryffs are almost all on his side. Better safe than sorry."

"Smart," seconds Luther. "We could all practice on each other. Love to give Higgins a reason to whine."

"A democracy?" frowns Lily. "I don't think that's a good idea…"

"'Course you don't," mutters Vulpecula. Lily chooses to ignore this comment.

"Who'd we get to teach it, though?" objects Scorpius. "I doubt Professor Longbourne'd agree to giving extra classes just to us."

"I know it's not strictly allowed…" admits Tairi. "But we really do need the protection."

"Maybe Professor Joshi-Yap?" suggests Lily.

"Maybe…"

They leave it at that for the moment.


	5. In Which There is a Party

**Chapter Five: In Which There is a Party**

"Want to dance?" He shouts in her right ear.

Tairi Malfoy turns around, sets her Butterbeer on the table, reflecting that she won't dare pick it up again in case someone doses it with mallowsweet or something worse, and looks up into Weasley brown eyes.

"Hey, Louis," she smiles.

"How'd you know it was me?" He sounds annoyed.

Tairi laughs. "Who else would dress up like Joey Jenkins from the Chudley Canons?"

"My uncle Ron," Louis says without hesitation. "You're looking lovely yourself."

"Thanks," Tairi grins. "I told James, if he shows up to this thing, it'd better be as Marc Antony." She's dressed in flowing, multi-colored robes and somehow she's made her long pale hair settle like a dark cloud around her face. She certainly looks exotic enough for Cleopatra.

Louis offers her his arm, and they move a little ways away, onto the makeshift dance floor. Both find it rather surprising that the dungeons are this spacious, considering the party is being held neither in the kitchens nor the Slytherin Common Room, but they chalk it down to magic.

"Hey—isn't Tairi going out with your brother?" Luther asks Lily, watching the dancers.

Lily shrugs. "Sort of. Mum's furious, of course. Called Tairi some nasty names last summer."

"Well, I think they make a great couple," Lottie Rosier says from behind the two friends.

"Eavesdropping, Lottie?" complains Lily.

"You've got to shout just be heard," Lottie explains without the least bit of embarrassment.

It's true; the music is so loud Lily can feel it in her bones, almost like it's taking her over. Ordinarily, this would make her want to run as far away as she could, to remind herself that no one is in charge of her destiny except her, but this is the Blue Disillusionists, who are amazing, and so she likes it—she even sways a bit, not quite dancing.

Nearby, Luther is leaning against the wall trying to look bored and sophisticated, and V is twirling and jumping around on the dance floor, all by herself, looking like she's having the time of her life. Sometimes, Lily wishes she were in Gryffindor, just to be brave enough to dance alone, when anyone might be watching.

Her brother Albus, she notes, is watching Scorpius and Rose dance with a scowl on his face. She doesn't understand why he won't loosen up about Scorpius, who is really a darling, and not at all evil.

"This isn't bad," calls Lottie, popping a chocolate frog into her mouth, and leaning on the wall next to Luther.

Lily's about to agree, reluctantly, when there is sudden silence.

The absence of the Blue Disillusionists singing—they've been literally cut off mid-phrase ("And I'm gonna show you, show you, who you re—")—is as deafeningly loud as they were, until a second ago.

"Someone turn the music back on!" cries a disgruntled voice from the dance floor, and suddenly everyone starts babbling, and then—

All the lights go out.

* * *

Melanie Jordan doesn't know what to think. Is this an invasion? Or is Headmistress Beaumont about to appear and demand everyone go back to their dorms at once, this is a disgrace, so disappointed, etc.? Or maybe the school's under attack and they've had to divert all available magic to defense?

Melanie's not sure, but her responsibility as Head Girl is clear; she has to keep everyone calm and organized. And she'd better find Louis, too—it's clearly her duty.

Melanie opens her mouth to cast _Lumos_ and _Sonorus_ in rapid succession, when suddenly—

There's light everywhere.

* * *

It's blinding; Louis can't see Tairi, can't see his own hand in front of his face. All around him, light flows from every conceivable surface. He has time to wonder if this is some kind of prank, a la his cousin James, except that James would never purposely blind his own girlfriend, brother, sister, and half his cousins, or maybe it's one of his sister Dominique's wittier ideas, she loves this sort of thing—

Louis is Head Boy, and he knows he has a responsibility to do something, even if he has no better idea what it should be than anyone else. "_Obscuro_!" he mutters, pointing his wand vaguely in the direction of his face.

The good news? He's no longer on light overload. The bad news? He still can't see.

Louis makes a conscious effort and stands absolutely still. And he listens.

Unfortunately, there isn't much to hear, besides people screaming. Still, there's something on the edge of his awareness—he's not hearing it, exactly, but it's there, teasing at him. He should know what it means, should understand—

* * *

Tairi has both hands covering her eyes, and her hair is tangled around her fingers, scratching at her face. She's bent over on the dance floor, and the only reason she's not curled up in the fetal position is because she's afraid she'll get trampled. Some people are running toward the exits, she can hear them—but she's too far to follow their example, and there's probably a huge traffic jam at the doors anyway. Tairi wishes she could Apparate the hell out of here.

Just when she's not sure how much more she can stand, the blinding light fades, and she cautiously puts her hands down, straightens up, and opens her eyes.

The words are written in red, yellow, and blue fire. Her first glimpse carves their image on her retina; even though she closes her eyes at once, she can see them long afterward.

Beside her, Louis's eyes are covered. She Vanishes his blindfold, and he cringes, before realizing the lightshow has been replaced by something else.

"Wow," he breathes, taking it all in. "Somebody really, really hates you."

* * *

The words are everywhere. Lily, Luther, and Vulpecula can't take their eyes away.

On every wall, the fire-words gleam, and people scrambling to get out the doors turn and stare to read them.

"SLYTHERIN MUST DIE! SLYTHERIN NECANDA EST! SLYTHERIN DEBE MORIR! SLYTHERIN IL FAUT MOURIR! SLYTHERIN DEVE MORIRE!"

There are more; every language spoken, or not spoken, at Hogwarts. Lily recognizes picturesque Ancient Runes, sloping Arabic characters…she can barely take it in.

"So, what?" V asks, breaking the silence in their small bubble. "Lure the whole school here just to say what the Ministry already has? Someone doesn't have much of a life."

"Or maybe," Luther suggests. "They just have a lot of hate."

Lily shivers.

* * *

The fiery letters don't fade for at least an hour, by which time the teachers have arrived. Apparently, this Halloween party was neither strictly allowed nor approved by the powers that be.

"But the flyers were everywhere, Professor!" objects Melanie. "How could you not see them?"

"Somebody's been awfully clever," Tairi comments sardonically. "Latin? Greek? Ancient Runes? Show-off."

Headmistress Beaumont makes Melanie, Louis, Tairi, and most of the other seventh-years explain what happened in turn, while Professors Joshi-Yap, Fenn, Longbourne, Parkinson-Bulstrode and Longbottom examine the walls, frowning and muttering to one another.

There are a few members of Slytherin's Army hovering on the fringes of the discussion, and Lily, Luther, and Vulpecula are eavesdropping from behind an orange curtain. They assume (correctly) that the Headmistress won't take kindly to including second-years in her conference.

"Well?" Professor Beaumont asks, when Parkinson-Bulstrode and Longbottom approach her, glaring at one another.

"There are traces of some powerful Charms here, Headmistress," Longbottom says. "You'd have to ask Professor Simmons for a more exact estimate."

"Come on, Longbottom," Parkinson-Bulstrode says, rolling her eyes. "You can do better than that!" She turns to Beaumont. "This powerful an illusion is very advanced. A student at N.E.W.T. level could probably do it, but nothing less."

"I see," says the Headmistress. She raises her voice to include Joshi-Yap, Fenn, and Longbourne. "I'd like all Heads of House to question their students about this, with a focus on the sixth and seventh-years. We can't have this sort of disruption occur, as you all know. I'd like you, Pansy, to question those students formerly in Slytherin, as you undoubtedly know them best."

"And can tell whether they're lying?" Luther whispers, grinning.

"When do they do anything else?" Vulpecula whispers back.

Lily watches the professors go, sure that she and the others can find the culprit much faster than a professorial inquisition. After all, this doesn't really matter so much to any of them, with the possible exception of Parkinson-Bulstrode, ex-Head of an abolished House, and Joshi-Yap, who at least seems to care about the gross injustice.

But for Lily, if it wasn't personal before (which it certainly was), it would be now. Someone ruined a perfectly good party and added insult to injury for her and the other Slytherins. After all, why "Slytherin must die!" when, according to the Ministry of Magic, it was already long-buried under mountains of parchmentwork and political correctness?

It looks to Lily, hiding behind her orange curtain and watching the Head Boy and Girl (both Gryffindors, and if that's a coincidence she'll eat her cauldron) clean up pieces of candy and trampled streamers, that she's not the only one for whom Abolition is more than just a move on the chessboard of life.

It's a war. And it's one she's determined to win.


	6. In Which There is a Lot of Arguing

**Chapter Six: In Which There is a Lot of Arguing**

"That was some Halloween," Albus Potter says neutrally at the next Slytherin's Army meeting. He's had another row with his cousin and best friend Rose Weasley about what she sees in that Malfoy git, and consequently he's trying for a détente.

"Yeah," Rose agrees absently. She's got _Jinxes for the Jinxed_ open on her lap. Nearby, Scorpius is sprawled on one of the many green couches, wrestling with his Herbology homework. Literally; his Fanged Geranium has a hold of one green sleeve, and he's attempting to coax it to let go.

"Okay, everyone," Lily drawls from her throne—her _chair_, that is, of course, her chair, Albus reminds himself. Her friends, the strange dark-haired boy and the youngest Malfoy girl, are perched on either side of her again. "We need to find out who gave us all that _fabulous_ lightshow last night. Thoughts? Suggestions?"

"Must've been Hamilton," argues Magnus. "I mean, who else could it have been?"

"Anyone who hates Slytherin," Louis points out. "And it's not Hamilton—I got a whiff of whoever-did-it's magical signature, and I'd have recognized his."

"And how do we know you're telling the truth?" Magnus demands. "After all, you're a Gryffindor."

"Yeah," agrees Bree. "This can't really be that important to you."

Louis looks angry. "I'm Head Boy," he growls. "So any student threatening any other student is my responsibility. 'Slytherin must die'—kind of suggestive, don't you think?"

"Why are we so sure it's a student?" asks Tairi. "It's not like no adults have ever hated us. Though I don't see how anyone could've snuck in…unless it was Quirke, he's so weird…"

"You recognized whoever's magical signature?" Lily asks Louis. "So if they cast something in front of you, you'd know it was them?"

"Probably," Louis admits, not willing to say for sure. "But I could be wrong, you know, it was only for a second…"

"What good is that when we don't even have any idea who it was?" complains Tyler Higgins despairingly. "Face it, we're fighting a losing battle."

"Don't give up," Vulpecula says. "You have morality on your side—you can't lose."

Magnus snorts, and Tyler lets out a bitter laugh. Several of the nearby Slytherins are smiling, too. "Don't be naïve," Bree says harshly. "If that isn't just like a Gryffindor."

* * *

Dear Neville,

I'm worried about Lily. She seems to be taking this whole Slytherin Abolition thing rather personally. I was hoping that you might talk to her, try and make her see reason. It's not as though Abolition has so much to do with her, after all.

I'm worried about what she might do—she's very opinionated, very stubborn. She's just like her grandmother. She can't stand injustice.

How are things, really? Lily owled us, and she claims there's dueling in the corridors, and it's not safe to wander around the castle. Is she just exaggerating? After all, it's not as though people are making much of a fuss about it here. Even the people you would expect—Draco and his parents, say—are keeping quiet about it.

I'm not sure what to think.

I would appreciate anything you can do to help Lily deal with this in a healthy, non-dangerous way.

Yours,

Harry

P.S. You're still coming for Christmas dinner, right? I know you have responsibilities at Hogwarts, but we all miss you and Hannah and little Daisy.

* * *

**Calling All Freethinking Wizards and Witches**

Connor Finnigan, staff writer of the Phoenix Feather

_Halloween. The holiday people spend gorging themselves on candy and dressing up in outlandish costumes to try and forget their drab, pathetic lives. _

_This year, the time-honored custom was shaken up when magic gate-crashed an insipid, otherwise-insignificant celebration in the dungeons. Although it was, in fact, forbidden, the revelers had no knowledge of this, so their attempts to 'let their hair down' were even more woefully feeble. _

_A stunning combination of words and light, the performance was truly, destructively poetic. It combined danger with elegance, art with politics…glorious genius at work. It elevated yet another dull Halloween party into something extraordinary, something students will be talking of for years to come. _

_The message itself, "SLYTHERIN MUST DIE!", sends a powerful wake-up call to hordes of fat, lazy politicians, who think they can merely sweep the vile name of Hogwarts' most loathsome founder under the rug, and thereby be finished with his groveling adherents. _

_Those of us who live and work here at Hogwarts know better. If one wants to destroy something, one must cut off its head._

* * *

"I think we've found our gate-crasher," Luther says slowly. There's a curious calm in the air. He's got the _Phoenix Feather_ open before him on the arm of a green couch, and his eyes are narrowed. Luther feels trouble brewing; it's like a cold wind across his skin.

"Tairi was so totally right," V says, having just reached the end of the editorial. "_What_ a show-off." She sounds disgusted, but the horror of what's happening hasn't gotten through to her. V, a Gryffindor, has nothing but contempt for those who fight their battles solely in words—Ravenclaws like Connor Finnigan barely encroach upon her radar.

Lily, leaning over Luther's shoulder, is amazed that she's still so calm. She really has grown up a lot since the days when her cousin Dominique could drive her speechless with fury using only ordinary bullying tactics.

After all—"This is a threat," she says, pointing to the last sentence. "Even if Finnigan doesn't follow through, he's given our enemies a manifesto." It's true—'SLYTHERIN MUST DIE!' is not a motto it's easy to forget.

Lily feels a curious sort of relief. She's not making _this_ up. And it's not paranoid if they really are out to get you.

* * *

Elsewhere, Lily's parents do not share her sangfroid.

"I'm really worried about her, Gin," Harry Potter says, pacing the kitchen floor of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. "We never had this much trouble with James or Al, even including all the trips to see the Headmistress over James."

"Maybe it's all for the best," suggests Ginny Potter, from her seat near the door. "We weren't exactly pleased when Lily got Sorted into Slytherin. Maybe this is her chance to get over all that brooding and sulking, and be a happier, more normal child."

Harry frowns at her. "Little chance of that, while she thinks there's injustice. And she's not wrong, you know. It doesn't make sense to get rid of Slytherin. Hogwarts had four Founders, and their legacy shouldn't be ignored—"

"Voldemort was in Slytherin," counters Ginny. "And all the Death Eaters."

"Except Pettigrew," Harry says quickly. He's unwilling to forget, or let anyone else forget, his parents' traitorous friend. "And Snape was good, let's not gloss over that—"

Ginny rolls her eyes. Not another Snape-the-hero speech. She's heard it all too many times before. And if he was really so good, he could have been nicer, a better teacher (not that she's forgotten any of the potions he taught them, no, they're all embedded in her mind due to trauma), and what about her sixth year, the year from hell? He could have given them some sign, could have defended them from the Carrows—no, Ginny's not about to forgive Snape.

"And," Harry adds, not quite sheepishly, "what about the Malfoys?"

"What about them?" Ginny's voice is cold.

"Draco's really not that bad," Harry persists. "And his kids have turned out all right, so he can't be too evil. Tairi's so intelligent, and really very polite—haven't seen much of young Scorpius, but Al's always complaining about how close he and Rosie are, and she's got excellent taste—and Vulpecula (what a name!) is one of our Lily's best friends."

"I know, I know," Ginny admits, sighing. "I still say my son is too good for that Malfoy girl—I don't know what James sees in her."

Harry opens his mouth.

"And _don't_ tell me!" Ginny orders. "I don't want to hear it. Besides, all you've said is that some Slytherins aren't quite as bad as the rest. Maybe they'd be even better if they were never in Slytherin in the first place."

"You know, much as it astounds, I do actually know some Wizarding history," Harry says slowly. "And, to be fair, the Slytherins aren't always the bad guys. The Gryffindors aren't even always the good guys. And maybe some of all this conflict would be solved if we just let each other live in peace."

Ginny shrugs. "Maybe, but can you seriously see that happening in our lifetime? Harry, if we can't control the bad element, whether it's just the Slytherins or not, who can?"

Harry frowns again, and there is a brief silence. "I thought we were talking about Lily," Harry says at last.

Ginny fusses with the tablecloth and won't meet his eyes.


	7. In Which Lily Gets a New Teacher

**Chapter Seven: In Which Lily gets a New Teacher**

"What do you think?" Lily asks, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. If Tairi didn't know better, she would've thought Lily had lugged all the books and cushions up to the seventh floor herself. As it is, the Room of Requirement is fully equipped to cope with any challenge.

Tairi has heard her father's reluctant story of why the place should be ruined, but somehow she's not surprised to find it's not.

Tairi scans the shelves, eyes resting on the spines of books she's either read or is meaning to read, on the pile of green cushions in the corner, the high ceiling, the Foe-Glass. True to her training, she doesn't let her eyes linger too long on the latter item. "It's perfect," she says, "But who's going to teach us?"

Lily, pleased at having her plan approved, just smiles mischievously. "You'll never guess," she promises.

"Are you sure they'll be up for it?" Tairi persists. "We're talking about nearly all Slytherin House, plus all those cousins of yours you co-opted. Good show, by the way."

Lily preens, unaccustomed to praise for her schemes. "They didn't need all that much convincing," she says modestly. "Be different if Dominique was still in school, of course."

"She hates me," Tairi agrees, almost absently. She doesn't much care what James's cousins think of her. Why should she?

Instead, she runs her hands over the books, thinking that it's a pity potions take such a long time to make. Not that long—some she could finish in less than an hour—but when you're fighting for life and/or limb, you usually need something faster.

"Do you think…?" Lily asks hesitantly after a while. Tairi raises her eyebrows. Since when does the indestructible Potter girl sound hesitant?

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we'll ever get Slytherin back?" Lily asks in a rush.

Tairi supposes she shouldn't be surprised; of course Lily has doubts, don't they all?

"If there's any justice in the world," she says. "Or maybe the next Dark Lord'll be a Gryff, then we're sure to get it back."

"That might be too late," protests Lily.

"And what would we do in the meantime, sit around and knit cunning sweater sets?" Tairi suggests, smiling. "When's your mystery teacher getting here?"

"Right about…" Lily grins, as the door handle turns. "Now."

* * *

"Er, hello, everyone," Neville Longbottom says nervously. He's been a teacher for some years now, has seen quite a few rowdy Weasley cousins, and then the less rowdy ones, who seem more on the tortured side, not to mention James Potter, but he has never confronted quite this many Slytherins at one time before.

Though he knows, because Lily, Harry, Hannah, Hermione, and even Dumbledore's portrait have told him, that this time it's Slytherin that's getting oppressed, he still can't quite forget that the parents and grandparents of most of these children were Death Eaters. How can he be sure they're trustworthy, that they will take what's theirs back if they can but nothing else?

On the other hand, Neville always thought History of Magic would've been interesting if Binns hadn't taught it, and if history teaches anything, it's that blaming the children will only turn them into their wicked parents faster.

So Neville takes a deep breath, and looks out on all the upturned faces. The polite, expectant silence, the dark eyes filled with anger, the green ties flung haphazardly around necks or knotted at waists or wrists…They look so solemn—and so young.

Lily's grinning at him, and it's her confidence in him that gives Neville the strength not to stutter. "I'm here to teach you all to defend yourselves," he says. "I know you're trying to get Slytherin reinstated, and I can't be a part of that—as Head of Gryffindor House, I think it's rather a conflict of interest." The older ones glare at that—too late, Neville remembers that he shouldn't encourage House rivalry. "Anyway, that's not the point. Tensions are running high right now, and that can be dangerous. This is strictly a Defense club—but I want you all not to say anything about it, since some people might object—and we've all had enough of trying to explain Hogwarts, I think. Okay?"

He waits, breathless, wondering if he should suggest they all write their names down and curse the parchment like Hermione did back in fifth year, or whether, as Slytherins, they already have some similar method of keeping House secrets.

Apparently, Albus has had the same thought. "Maybe we should all write our names, with Slytherin's Army at the top, you know, so we know who we all are?" he suggests, sounding a bit nervous.

"No way," protests Roxane. "That was how Dad and Uncle Harry and everyone got caught, remember?"

"Actually," Lily speaks up. "I was thinking: instead of writing our own names, how about we each write the name of someone who's conspiring against us. That way, if the list_ is_ found, we won't get in trouble."

"And it'll give everyone a chance to think about their personal enemies," Magnus Yaxley says approvingly.

The other Slytherins are nodding, too, and almost all of them have a menacing gleam in their eyes. Neville shivers, wondering if he's really doing the right thing. These children can't _all_ have personal enemies already, can they?

"Professor Longbottom," Luther Dagworth asks. "Do you think you could possibly get us a list of all the people who voted for Abolition?"

"We should research their financial backers," says Scorpius Malfoy. "Politicians never do anything unless there's a lot of money involved."

Soon they're all talking excitedly, hatching plans and pondering research. They're quite ambitious in their choice of enemies, too, although there are a few who go for the classic rivalries. Tyler Higgins 'calls' Rich Hamilton right away. "You don't understand; I have to _room_ with that git!" he says bitterly.

"Now, let's be clear," Neville says finally, rather doubting his words will do any good but unable not to say them. "I'm teaching you to protect yourselves, not try and get some petty revenge."

"Petty?" Tairi Malfoy says coldly. Lily's glaring at him too, Neville realizes. He gulps.

"Right," says Luther slowly. "Revenge. A…no-no."

The others alternately roll their eyes at their professor's naïveté, mouth names of their enemies like curses, or pretend the whole scene is boring them to tears. Somehow, Neville is not reassured.

* * *

"How do you feel?" Grandfather asks. His voice is tender enough, but Anne du Winters knows she won't even get a hug, after days and interminable days in St. Mungo's. She's not sure how long she was there in actual fact: a week, two weeks? Three? But it feels like forever.

"Tired," she replies, which is true enough. She slumps down into her favorite chair at the kitchen table, and reaches for a cereal box.

"Ready to go back to school?"

Maybe it's the exhaustion, maybe a stray bit of the curse left over, but Anne tells the whole truth, this time. She won't dance around the subject anymore. What's the point?

"I don't know if I'll ever really be ready to go back to that Godric-forsaken place," she says. "Or at least, I'll have a hard time leaving my dorm, where the moderately sane people are still a majority—or they were back before Halloween. Who knows what's happened by now?"

"You don't feel safe there? Perhaps I should speak to Professor Beaumont—" Grandfather looks mildly concerned. He's even put his _Daily Prophet_ down.

"No," Anne sighs. "She can't do anything. It'll only stop if the Slytherins get their House back. Hogwarts is like a war zone, Grandfather. If only they'd get rid of_ all_ the Houses, that might actually do some good."

"Are you sure? Slytherin has long been considered the epicenter of disaster in the Wizarding world, you know."

Anne shrugs, and takes a bite of cereal. She talks with her mouth full. "Whoe'er thinks dat doesn't know the Gryffindors wery well." She swallows. "And it's not very fair, just getting rid of one. I figure people could just have a lottery or something, to decide who's sleeping in which dormitories. And the Quidditch teams could rotate, so the system was actually based on giving everyone the chance to play, instead of all that nepotism—do you realize James Potter, Dominique Weasley, Louis Weasley, Molly Weasley, and Fred Weasley were all on the Quidditch team 'til the eldest three graduated? It's still a pretty Weasley-heavy team. And instead of four Heads of House, we could have different faculty advisors, like whoever you got along with. It'd cut down on the amount of work per teacher, too." She pauses to drink some juice, and notices her Grandfather watching her.

He looks, she decides with some surprise, rather stricken.

"I never meant—" he chokes out. "That is, I—your safety is more important to me than any of this nonsense—I'm _so_ sorry—"

"Grandfather?" Anne says hesitantly, a little confused. She gets up and pats him awkwardly on the back. "I'm okay, really," she assures him. "I'm exaggerating, I'm not really in fear of my life or anything—it's not like this is some kind of war—and I'm going to leave my dormitory, of course I am, I'll have to go to class, won't I? If I missed Transfiguration, Professor Parkinson-Bulstrode'd send Hufflepuff's House points below zero, and I owe my friends better than that—forget what I said, okay? I'm fine, everything's fine—"

"No," says Grandfather darkly, "It's not."

Grandfather brings her to the gates of the castle by Side-Along Apparition, and then they stand there for several long minutes in the cold November air, not saying anything.

"I'm going to make this right," Grandfather's voice is abrupt and loud. But he adds, under his breath, "If I can." Anne hears. "Have a good rest of term, sweetheart," he says, giving her a brief, stiff hug.

"I'll try," says Anne bravely. "I love you, Grandfather."

* * *

Dear Harry,

Hannah and I are certainly still coming to Christmas dinner. I may be a Hogwarts professor who takes his duties seriously, but I have a family, too. Daisy can't wait to see you again; I think she's got a bit of a case of hero-worship.

As far as your other concern…I feel it would be inappropriate to discuss my own views on such a controversial and personal topic, but I am, as always, certainly doing my best to look after the children in my care, including your daughter.

As her professor, however, I can't discuss with you any of her affairs not pertaining directly to Herbology and her progress therein. I'm sorry, but it's really only fair to the students.

On the other hand, I think I may say that I have the…_situation_ temporarily under control.

If you have any further concerns about Lily or Albus, you are of course free to owl me.

Yours,

Neville

P.S. If it means anything to you, Professor Dumbledore says wars are often followed by a strong cultural backlash, and that warriors seldom retreat from any sort of fight.

Cryptic, isn't he? Brilliant, of course.

N


	8. In Which Lily Muses on Family

**In Which Lily Muses on the Concept of Family**

"Hey, Vlad, don't get fussy, I just need you to take this letter home for me," Lily croons to her owl, Vlad, attaching a piece of parchment to his leg. She supposes he's objecting because it's so cold, but really, just because it's nearly Christmas is no reason that she can't write to her parents. She's happy at Hogwarts (or she would be if Slytherin hadn't been abolished) but she still gets homesick sometimes.

"Oh," says a surprised voice from the door. Lily doesn't see why whoever-it-is is surprised that they're not alone in the Owlery, but she's hardly going to start a quarrel this close to Christmas. Unless it's Rich Hamilton or Connor Finnigan, of course.

Lily turns around. "Oh, hey, Dana," she says politely, nodding at the blonde girl in the doorway. Dana Dursley is Lily's cousin on her father's side. She's got green eyes just like Dad and Al's, and she's a bit plump. She's always been quiet—a sweet little Hufflepuff.

"Lily," Dana acknowledges, blushing. She blushes at everything. With an effort, Lily refrains from rolling her eyes. "So…what're you doing for the holiday?" Dana asks, clearly for lack of anything better to say.

"Home, the Burrow, V's if I can swing it…" Lily rattles off, stroking Vlad's feathers absently.

"That's great!" Dana says, smile wide and white teeth gleaming.

There's a small pause while Dana eyes the school owls nervously, clutching her letter. Lily wonders idly to whom she's writing, but dismisses it as unimportant. "How about you?" she asks belatedly.

"Oh—home," Dana says, not sounding particularly thrilled.

"That's nice," Lily says, wincing at the banality of this conversation.

"Yeah," Dana sighs.

"Don't you…I mean, you must miss your parents. Got any siblings?" At this point, Lily's desperate.

Dana gives her a weird look. "Yeah. Don't you read our Christmas cards?"

"Oh, of course," Lily grins mischievously, unwilling to admit a mistake. "Two brothers, right? The older one's kind of cute."

"Hey!" Dana scowls, but her posture relaxes. "That's my twin, Dick. Jeffie's a couple years younger."

"I've got two brothers, too," Lily says absently, trying to figure out why Dana seems so depressed. "So…."

"So, I'd better go," Dana says, and turns toward the door.

"Wait! Your letter—" Lily starts, stepping forward. Dana looks over her shoulder at Lily, those green eyes heartbroken.

After all, Lily reasons, it's just not fair that Dana, her cousin, have to suffer whatever troubles at home she's worried about, all alone. Everyone's got issues, yes, but there's something here Dana's not telling her.

Lily glances deliberately down at the address on Dana's letter. "You're sending an owl to Great-Aunt Petunia?" she exclaims, too shocked to be tactful. "Dad says she hates magic!"

"She thinks I'm a freak!' Dana wails suddenly. "I was wearing my robes when she came over last summer and she turned white, walked out, and hasn't spoken to me since!"

"Well, duh," Lily starts to say, fighting an urge to roll her eyes. But Dana's almost crying now, and Lily hopes she's not that callous. "Oh," she says instead, and then the idea comes to her. "Hey, Dana—you should totally come over for Christmas dinner! Grandma Molly won't mind a couple more—you can bring your brothers!"

"I don't know," Dana says hesitantly. "Uncle Harry's all right, but there's the twin terrors who gave Dad some weird candy—"

"Uncle George? He's not that bad," Lily protests. "And Dad'll sort him out. You should bring your parents. Grandpa Arthur'll want to know everything about lektricity and refriggerites. Or something. Besides, Christmas is for family."

"Are you sure? I mean, Uncle Harry's family, but—I mean, Grandmother—and then, too, the Weasleys are—I mean, I—" Dana pauses, takes a deep breath, smiles through her tears, and says, "Thank you, Lily. I'm really glad we're cousins."

"Me, too," Lily says, crossing her fingers behind her back and plotting how best to get James to look out for Dana.

Dana looks at her letter, then at the owls, and then at Lily. She shrugs, brushes at her face rather awkwardly, tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and leaves.

Lily looks after her curiously, reflecting that family resemblances are strange things.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Things have settled down a bit, so you don't have to talk to Professor Beaumont about 'student safety' or whatever. It's not like she could do anything, anyway. _

_Did you hear anything from the Ministry higher-ups about what's been going on here? They can't really think they can just say, "get rid of Slytherin" and forget all about us—can they?_

_Oh, and my present for James is sort of complex—I'm going to need some help setting up the Portkey. _

_See you soon!_

_Love,_

_Lily_

_P.S. I invited Dana Dursley and her family over for Christmas dinner at the Burrow—hope that's okay!_

* * *

"Good Godric." Harry Potter looks up from his daughter's letter in blank surprise, and a small amount of nervous dread.

"You mean you deciphered that scrawl? Honestly, our daughter's handwriting is the worst I've ever seen," complains Ginny Potter, shaking her head so her Weasley red hair bounces. "What's the latest catastrophe? Did she fall hundreds of feet from a broom—no wait, she doesn't play Quidditch…"

"Like that would stop her," Harry mutters darkly, then sighs and hands the letter to Ginny.

"Weren't you listening? I can't read her writing," Ginny scowls. She crosses her arms, doesn't take the letter, and waits.

Harry sighs. "She's invited Dudley et al to the Burrow for Christmas."

"WHAT?" Ginny exclaims. "That girl—! For Godric's sake! The same Dudley whose parents locked you in a cupboard for years and years? And without asking us—" She breaks off and snatches a quill. "Don't you dare fly off, Vlad, I've got a few things to say to Lily!"

"No, wait," Harry says. "What's done is done; we can't un-invite them."

"That's what Memory Charms are for," Ginny says nastily, and her quill flies across parchment.

"I don't think she meant—" Harry starts to say.

"Oh, right, she didn't mean to invite your horrible family!" Ginny rolls her eyes, and ink spatters across the page. Harry reflects that her handwriting is likely to be at least as unreadable as Lily's.

"My family isn't horrible!" Harry protests reflexively. "Dudley certainly isn't! I saw him when Dana got her Hogwarts letter, a year and a half ago, and he's really not that bad—his wife seems like a reasonable person—"

"What! You never said you liked his wife!" Ginny glares at him, ink and parchment forgotten.

Harry supposes that he has at least temporarily stopped her from writing Lily a Howler.

"I didn't talk to her much or anything, she just seemed more like a sane person than I would've expected from someone who married Dudley," Harry explains mildly. "And Dana's just a regular kid, trying to figure out what she wants to do with her life. And anyway, she's a Hufflepuff." The unspoken implication is, no _Hufflepuff _has ever been evil. There's some disagreement about Gryffindors, and everyone knows Slytherin is—or was—the preferred home of dark wizards. And extreme intelligence does occasionally produce misguided idealists and budding megalomaniacs, so Ravenclaw isn't completely off the hook—but _Hufflepuff_. Bad people just aren't in Hufflepuff.

"Okay, so I suppose this Dana's all right," Ginny admits grudgingly. "But let's get back to Dudley's wife. Is she _pretty_?"

* * *

Lily's all packed for the break. She surveys the room she shares with Vulpecula, Sally Simpkins, Miranda Shiplake, Colleen Corner, and Anissa Goldstein. The extra bed (Lily's) is pushed under the window, between Vulpecula, a friend, and Miranda, a neutral party (and a Muggle-born—or rather, Newblood).

Everything looks neat, much cleaner than it ever does during the term. Sally's already gone, thank Salazar, but Colleen and Anissa are leaving tonight, by Floo. Their bags are neatly piled beside one another. Lily longs to tear down the Gryffindor hangings, but she thinks of how disappointed her father would be, and restrains herself.

She looks at her bed, covered with her green and silver entrelac blanket, without which she can't sleep (Aunt Luna gave it to her when she was first Sorted into Slytherin, and it's got all sorts of protective, soothing enchantments—even a few strands of Demiguise hair, and everyone knows how hard those are to find), beside her own bags, embroidered with gold LLP's (a present from her mother).

And there's the small gouge in the window frame where Lily and Sally got into a tussle over an enchanted hairbrush and it exploded…the crack in the windowpane that Vulpecula says was there since the days of Lily's paternal grandmother…the scratch marks running the length of the room made by Miranda's cat, Caliban…the plush flowered rug Colleen brought in to replace the threadbare school-issue one—the rumor is it_ used_ to be red…

Lily sighs, not sure how this could have happened. The Gryffindor second-year girls' dorm feels…not quite like home, but—

"Hey, Lily, aren't you coming?" V demands, popping her head in at the doorway. Her green eyes sparkle.

"What?" Lily asks distractedly. She blinks, and reminds herself that she absolutely can't have thought living with Silly Sally Simpkins was tolerable, much less pleasant, or homey, or—"Yeah," she says, determinedly, sweeping her blanket around her shoulders and grabbing her bags. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

Yo_u_ **liTle** b_ra_t, you'_re j_ust LIKe **all** the **P**ot_terS,_ bound to coME to a** BAD** en_d_. Stay OUT of w_hat_ **doesn't c**on_cer_n you, or that **en****d'll be** soOnEr than y_ou _**think**. You're ALL _trash_, an**d don't **you _forge_t it. **I'll be** watching YOU.

"By Salazar," swears Lily softly, "What the bloody hell—"

"What's the letter say?" Luther inquires.

"Who'd be writing now, we'll be home in a bit," V comments, staring out the train window.

Lily tucks the letter into an inner pocket of her robes. "Nothing," she says, "It's nothing."


	9. In Which Christmas is Celebrated

**Chapter Nine: In Which Christmas is Celebrated**

"Lily, sweetheart! And James, you're so tall!" Grandma Molly exclaims over the Potter siblings. "Albus, honey, you're looking—well," she adds, somewhat doubtfully.

Al makes a heroic effort not to scowl. He's just learned that his siblings have plans to spend Boxing Day at Malfoy Manor, and, even worse, Dad is encouraging them! Mom is glaring impartially around at the company.

Everyone is here: Grandma Molly and Grandpa Arthur, Uncle Percy declaiming about something or other, while Teddy swaps tall tales with James, his arm around Vic's waist. She's carrying little Harry Lupin, who's about fifteen months old and can actually walk himself; his parents are worried he'll get trampled. Vic's pregnant again, too—Al suspects she has the typical Weasley fertility.

"The decorations look lovely, Molly," Dad says, smiling.

"Thank you, Harry," Grandma Molly blushes. "It's nothing really."

"So, I'm going to wait for Dudley at the gate," Dad says. "You got our owl that they might be coming, right?" He looks anxious.

"Yes, of course, Harry dear," Molly says comfortingly. "I think it's great that you're reaching out to your relatives."

"Really?" Mom mutters sourly, but Dad pretends not to hear.

Albus looks around the party, already filling up with relatives he's known his whole life. He hates that he's old enough now to be bored by Christmas. It seems wrong somehow.

For lack of anything better to do, Al follows Dad toward the gate. He's seen Dana around school, of course, but the rest of her family only on Christmas cards. Their pictures never move, which used to confuse him.

"Dad?" Al asks, once they're several steps away from the crowd of Weasleys. "What's the story with you and the Dursleys, anyway?"

"Well," Dad says, and then stops. He doesn't speak for a long moment, and Al squints at his face in the dark. "I…Petunia Dursley was my mother's sister. After my parents died, she was the only family I had left. So Professor Dumbledore sent me to live with them, and they agreed to take me in."

Albus rolls his eyes. "Dad, I know that part already. I meant, what's the _story_?"

"I don't know what you mean," Dad claims—mendaciously, in Al's opinion.

"Why is it such a big deal that they're coming tonight? Why do we never visit them when we're so close with Mom's family? Why is Mom mad Lily invited them? Everyone's acting like they're worse than the Malfoys, which is ridiculous." His tone makes it clear that, to Albus at least, there is no one worse than the_ Malfoys_.

"Al, I...Petunia and Vernon—and Dudley—weren't very…kind to me, growing up. I—we lost touch, after the war. I mean, I knew Dudley got married, and I saw them when Dana got her Hogwarts letter, but…well, it's complicated, Al."

"Family always is," mutters Albus, thinking of Lily, James, and the Malfoys.

* * *

"Lily, are you sure about this? We're going to miss dinner—" James protests.

Lily, undeterred, leads him a few paces further into the woods behind the Burrow. "I told you, it's your Christmas present! Besides, you're going to love it!"

"Lily—"

"Okay," Lily pulls her brother to a sudden stop. "Now, grab this twig."

"This is some kind of prank," James says resignedly. "You're going to humiliate me in front of the entire family."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Lily grins. "Just pick up the twig."

"I'll have you know I'm only cooperating because it's Christmas," James says, but he touches the twig in question.

"Have fun! Merry Christmas!" Lily calls, and waves at him. James feels a tug behind his navel, and then he's whirling to a stop in a little clearing in the middle of a wood.

And he's not alone.

* * *

Whistling, Lily makes her way back to the Weasley Family Christmas Dinner, feeling very proud of herself. "Vulpecula," she breathes on the glass of the Two-Way Mirror her parents got her on the eve of her first year at Hogwarts.

"Lily!" Vulpecula says happily. "Get James off okay?"

"Absolutely. How about you?"

"No problems on this end," Vulpecula's grinning. "Mom and Dad don't suspect a thing. Grammy Cissy gave me a weird look when I made Tairi's excuses, but I think we're good."

"She won't tell? I didn't explain about James's Christmas present, and there could be awkward questions," Lily says anxiously.

"Your mother, you mean," Vulpecula nods. "Like she'd have a word to say to Grammy Cissy."

"You'd be surprised," Lily says darkly. "Mom talks to Grandromeda all the time, and Grandromeda talks to Grammy Cissy…It's not that long a chain of information."

"Don't fret, Lily," Vulpecula insists. "We did good!"

"He is going to love it, isn't he?" Lily agrees, giggling. "Probably having the time of his life right now."

* * *

James swears, loudly and creatively. "We're stuck in the middle of nowhere!" He complains at last. "And this is supposed to be a Christmas present?"

"Well," Tairi Malfoy says slowly. "They did leave us some Christmas dinner."

"How are we supposed to get back? Everyone will be looking for us!" James protests.

"They must have thought of that," Tairi says. "It's not as though Lily and Vulpecula could have set up those Portkeys on their own. They're only second-years, after all."

"It's not that I'm not thrilled to see you," James says softly, pulling Tairi into his arms. "But this is ridiculous! When will my sister learn she can't just rearrange people's lives?"

Tairi laughs. "I think it's sweet. You're just upset because you didn't think of this yourself. We get Christmas dinner all to ourselves—no disapproving family, no boring business talk…what's not to love?"

"Well," James grins, leaning closer to Tairi. "When you put it _that _way…"

* * *

"We're all just so happy for you, dear," Grandma Molly gushes. She's seated at the head of the enormously long dinner table, set up in the garden.

Lily, having returned from her charitable mission to give James a romantic dinner with his girlfriend, looks up inquiringly. It hardly seems likely that Grandma Molly is referring to James's Christmas present, but she can't think what else she'd be congratulated for.

"You're finally where you belong," Grandma Molly goes on. "We were all sure the Sorting Hat must have made a mistake with you, and now you're in Gryffindor, with the rest of the family."

"What are Hugo and I, next-door neighbors?" Rose asks sharply. She's on edge because she hates these huge family gatherings. Lily's aware she'd much prefer to sit quietly with Al and maybe Scorpius, studying for exams or researching bizarre areas of magic.

But Lily isn't thinking about Rose. Anger floods her whole body, paralyzing her. She's prepared for anti-Slytherinism from Hamilton, or Wood, the Gryffindors, or the Ministry—but this is her family. Grandma Molly is beaming, and Uncle Percy, and even Uncle George, are nodding in agreement.

Lily wants to scream.

"I d-don't think that's fair at all," Dana Dursley speaks up nervously.

Everyone is so surprised that complete silence falls over the family. Dana's parents look singularly uncomfortable, and her younger brother is the only one unaware of the tension. He's playing some sort of game under the table.

"S-Slytherin is a fine House," Dana continues. "I have a friend, Anne du Winters, who g-got hurt, in the dungeons. The Gryffindors—it was their fault, and they didn't even wait, to take her to the Hospital Wing! It was awful! Some older Slytherins helped her, but she still had to go to the Wizarding Hospital for awhile."

"You didn't tell us your classmate was in the hospital!" Dana's father says furiously. "I knew that place wasn't safe!"

"Dad, I'm fine," Dana says hurriedly, clearly embarrassed. "My point is, not all Gryffindors are very nice. And not all Slytherins are mean. And Lily is one of the nicest people I've met at Hogwarts, from any House."

"Wow," Lily says, touched. "Thanks, Dana."

"Well," Grandma Molly says, and stops. "Whatever you say, dear."

Lily isn't sure whether she or Dana is being addressed, but it doesn't seem to matter. It's funny, Lily thinks, that her father's family (or at least Dana) understand some things about her world better than her mother's. The Weasleys are as old a family as the Malfoys, and they've got a reputation for tolerance.

Lily isn't sure it's deserved.

* * *

Elsewhere, Dolores Umbridge stares at her wall. On it hangs a picture of Harry Potter—one of those promotional ones he agreed to have taken at last year's Ministry party.

Pinned over the bottom of his picture is a blurry newspaper photo of a redheaded girl, climbing onto the Hogwarts Express.

Written in sickly green ink, over Harry Potter's chest, are the words, _To be punished._

Written over the redheaded girl's left foot is the word, _Weapon_.

Dolores Umbridge lifts a glass of firewhiskey, toasting the redhead. "Merry Christmas, little girl," she says sweetly. She drinks the entire glass in one gulp. "It'll be your last."


	10. In Which Lily Cries

**Chapter Ten: In Which Lily Cries**

"How are you, hope you had a fabulous break, etcetera, etcetera," Bree Urquhart says at high speed. She and Magnus Yaxley flank little Lily Potter on either side. "We need to talk."

"We certainly do," Magnus says grimly, and steers Lily into an empty classroom. Immediately, Bree and Magnus whirl to confront her.

Lily waits patiently, outwardly calm.

"Potter," Bree says dangerously. "It's been a month since we got back from Christmas break. And, as far as any of the rest of us can tell, you've done nothing in that time. No meetings of Slytherin's Army, no successful campaigns against the Gryffs—what's going on?"

"You suddenly turn into a good little girl?" Magnus jeers. "Or did your family brainwash you? Everyone knows they're too good to be true."

"No, of course not," Lily says. "There hasn't been much to do, you know."

"So, what? You're giving up?" Bree demands.

"What can you expect from a second-year?" Magnus says disgustedly. "And a Potter, at that."

"Be patient," Lily tells them.

"We don't need her," Magnus says, over Lily's head, to Bree. "Slytherin's Army is no place for a second-year who's lost her touch."

"We can't just—this was her idea," protests Bree. "What happened to you, Lily?"

"Nothing," Lily insists—but she can see they don't believe her. "Listen, we'll have a meeting tomorrow night. Go back to practicing."

"Practicing for what?" Bree asks sourly. "We're fighting for our lives already."

"The big showdown, no doubt," Magnus says bitterly. "Didn't they always used to happen in June, when her father was here?"

"Don't worry," Lily tells them firmly. "We can do this. And I'm not my father."

"No kidding," Bree says, and she and Magnus glare down at their diminutive leader.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I really should get to class," Lily says, and copies Scorpius Malfoy's good-humored smirk.

She's gone before Bree and Magnus can retort, or complain further. Just as well, Lily reflects.

She's lucky they don't know the real reason she's been so…out of it lately.

Lily remembers her stack of anonymous hate mail, hexed quite thoroughly to prevent well-meaning interference, and shivers.

She hurries toward her next class, grasping her robes tightly about her, and feeling very alone.

* * *

Binns drones on and on. Sally Simpkins is curling her hair around her wand, Miranda Shiplake is doodling idly on a scrap of paper, and Lily Potter is taking notes.

Actually taking notes. Lily never takes notes. She's proud of her ability to improvise. And she doesn't want to look like some pathetic four-eyed _Ravenclaw_, for Salazar's sake.

But today, Lily scrawls as much of Binns's lecture verbatim as she can. She can't even summon the energy to doodle all over her parchment.

Vulpecula glances her way surreptitiously. Then she nods to herself, and raises her hand.

Binns, nonplussed, pauses in mid-goblin rebellion, and frowns at her. "Miss Maffey?" he says inquiringly.

Vulpecula shrugs. "It's Miss Malfoy, sir, and I was wondering whether a Hogwarts House has ever been abolished before. Like, did there used to be a fifth one, written out of history?"

"Wicked if there was," drawls Jonathon Goldstein, Anissa's twin brother. "The Fourth Tower," he announces melodramatically. Hogwarts has three main towers, those of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Astronomy.

Lily suspects, however, that a fourth tower would hardly go unnoticed. Another secret chamber, like the one where her father fought the basilisk, on the other hand…

"Certainly not!" Binns says indignantly. "The four Hogwarts Houses have been thus from the beginning! The noble founders of this school never buried a colleague's legacy, nor would they, no matter the provocation!"

"No matter the provocation?" Vulpecula repeats slowly. "Even if, say, Godric Gryffindor's daughter got Sorted into Slytherin, post that whole Newblood admission policy issue?"

"The Hogwarts Founders had a great respect for one another, and for all each could teach their students!" Binns sounds furious—or as furious as someone that dull will ever get.

"And _he_ should know," Luther leans over to whisper in Lily's ear, from the Ravenclaw side of the room.

She tries to giggle, but all she can manage is a wan smile.

"And now, we will return to history," Binns says. "To clear, certain facts, about which there can be no unprofitable speculation." And he glares around at them all, and prepares to resume his lecture.

Promptly, Jonathon Goldstein goes back to doodling on a spare bit of parchment, Anissa and Colleen to whispering the latest gossip, Luther, with a long-suffering sigh, to note-taking…

And Lily Potter puts her head on her desk, and weeps.

* * *

"I think she's lost her touch…"

"Did you see Potter break down in History today? What a baby!"

"She's not looking well, do you reckon she's ill?"

"Looks like that little Slytherin bitch is finally cracking up…"

"Think that changeling story's true?"

"Whatever her deal is, I'm glad I don't have another class with her today…"

"Hey, SNAKE! Go back where you came from, and stay there!"

"Yeah, go drown in the lake!"

Lily doesn't say anything. Keeps her head down, and just walks faster.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm really worried about Lily. She didn't come to our extracurricular meeting the other night. _

_And I've heard from my colleagues that she's been breaking down and crying in class. _

_If you have any idea what's going on with her, please write back quickly._

_It's probably nothing—but this just isn't like her._

_Yours, _

_Neville_

* * *

"Is she okay? She's not okay, is she?" Luther paces the Room of Requirement, long after the others have left.

Vulpecula just shrugs helplessly. "I've asked, but she won't tell me anything."

"I don't understand her!" Luther says angrily, punching the air with a fist. "She's never—not like this—!"

"I think something's wrong," Vulpecula says solemnly.

Luther stares in disbelief. "Think? I _know _something's wrong. And I'm not just going to sit here while she mopes herself to death!"

"Me neither," says Vulpecula firmly, and races Luther to the door.

They won't let Lily give up: what are friends for?


	11. In Which There is an Assembly

**Chapter Eleven: In Which There is an Assembly**

Lily blinks. "This is not my beautiful dorm room," she murmurs ironically, and sits up. Several beds over, she notices Tim Hamilton, a first-year, and avid follower of his Slytherin-hating older brother Rich, and adds, "And these are not my beautiful roommates." Then she winces, because Sally Simpkins, at least, is not beautiful in her eyes.

It's only then that she realizes she's starving.

Before she can summon a house-elf in her desperation, the door of the hospital wing clangs open, and Harry and Ginny Potter race forward toward her, followed by Madame Frost, Madame Pomphrey's assistant. The fact is, Madame Pomphrey isn't up to the whole job anymore, and Madame Frost has been picking up the slack.

"Lily! Are you all right?" Dad demands, catching her hands in his. Mom starts rubbing her shoulders, and Madame Frost excuses herself and goes over to Tim Hamilton.

"What happened?" Lily asks.

"Madame Frost said you fainted—don't you remember?" Dad says, frowning worriedly at her.

Lily picks at the thread of her blanket and doesn't meet his eyes.

"It's fine," Mom says reassuringly. "Harry, why don't you get Lily some dinner? She needs to replenish her sugars."

Dad nods, and leaves, though not before dropping a kiss on Lily's forehead.

"What's going on?" Lily asks, her voice acquiring rather an edge. She thinks she's being remarkably patient, given that she still has no idea why she fainted, or what she's doing in the hospital wing.

"Well, sweetheart," Mom says, sitting down beside Lily and stroking her hair. "There comes a time in every woman's life when her fertility increases, and—"

Lily frantically shushes her mother. "_Mom_, I know!" she hisses, in the voice of embarrassed teens and pre-teens everywhere. "Are you saying that's why I fainted?"

"Yes. You had low blood sugar," Mom says curtly, not mincing matters. Lily knows this means she's offended, but doesn't care.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, young lady, that you're going to need to eat properly. I don't want to hear any excuses," Mom frowns, but when Lily doesn't reply, seemingly acquiescent, she continues more happily, "It's just such a relief, darling. After Neville's letter about you, and Rose was quite worried as well, and those…_friends_ of yours…" her disapproval of Luther and Vulpecula is evident, and Lily scowls. "Well, I'm glad it was just hormones."

"_Just hormones_?" Lily repeats disbelievingly.

"Of course," Mom says, surprised. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, dearest. Happens to all of us," and she grins crookedly. "You'll feel better once you've had some chocolate."

"You have no idea what's going on with me!" Lily shrieks, twisting away from her mother's embrace. "And no, chocolate isn't going to fix it!" Although it might help, she's forced to admit; Lily's mouth waters.

"I had a professor once who loved to explain the medicinal qualities of chocolate," Mom says reminiscently. "Your cousin Teddy's father. It was the year with all those Dementors, and of course everything was such a mess…I'm glad they don't guard Azkaban anymore. Much too dangerous…" Mom shudders.

"You're not even listening to me, are you?" Lily demands, icily. She turns away, curling her body into a ball on the bed and closing her eyes against the hunger, and the despair.

Mom strokes her red hair, and, for once, doesn't scold.

* * *

"Are you all right?" Vulpecula asks, green eyes wide as she stares into Lily's face.

"Fine," Lily lies.

"Tell the truth," Luther demands, sitting beside her on one of the Slytherin couches. The three of them have taken to haunting their old common room. Sometimes other Slyths come, too, but on nights like this one, the room is only theirs.

"Why?" Lily bursts out, at last. Her words seem dragged from her unwilling lips. "Why tell the truth? Why lie? Why_ bother_?"

"Finally ready to explain your fit of the sulks, then?" Luther says snidely. "Let's hear the whole story. Your idealistic youth, your grand disillusionment, your realization that it's all hopeless anyway—"

"Well, it is!" Lily yells, finally shaken out of her apathy. "I'm not accomplishing anything! At all! _Nothing!_ By the time Dad was my age, he'd defeated the Dark Lord _twice_! And what have I done?"

"Given a quarter of this school's population hope, for one," argues Vulpecula. "And annoyed the hell out of Hamilton et al."

"I haven't changed anything!" Lily says desperately. "The Ministry doesn't even _know_ about Slytherin's Army!"

"Then maybe it's time they did," grins Luther. "What say we storm the place? It can't be that hard; the Dark Lord took it over easily enough."

"Those terrible lifts might come in useful…" Lily muses, fantasizing in spite of herself.

"That's the spirit!" Vulpecula laughs.

The three of them have a good time planning their assault on the Ministry, complete with maps and timetables. Still, Lily's fears don't entirely disappear. She worries at the problem like a loose tooth. What is she going to do? What in the world is she going to do?

* * *

"All right, everyone," Professor Quirke clears his throat nervously, looking down at the sea of faces. All the second-years are here, waiting for his speech. They've already heard from Professors Fenn, Vector, and Hagrid, who teach Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures, respectively. In the back of the room, Professors Trelawney and Firenze glare at one another.

It was the Headmistress's idea, having the professors of the non-required subjects give promotional speeches, instead of the usual pamphlets. Quirke thinks longingly of those impersonal pamphlets now.

"As you all know, Non-Magical Studies is, er…the study of non-magical society," Quirke says lamely.

"This is such a waste of time," someone mutters, in the back. Quirke can't see who it is, but he suspects it's one of those nasty Slytherins—everyone knows they have it in for non-magic people.

"Every witch and wizard should take Non-Magical Studies," Quirke persists valiantly. "Because…because you may be stranded out of the magical world, and—and there are many alternatives to magic, you know…"

"Someone put me out of my misery," moans someone in the third row.

"Who even cares about alternatives to magic?" asks a girl in the front row. "It's not like we're all going to go strolling in Muggle London without our wands!"

"And what's with calling Muggles "non-magic," anyway?" another student grumbles. "If the war's really over, shouldn't we not even care about that anymore?"

"Students!" Quirke says, vainly trying to recapture their attention. "Please!"

"Are you kidding?" another student says. Quirke is losing track of where all the voices are coming from. He scans the crowd desperately, looking for the ringleader. "The day the Ministry stops caring about pointless stuff, like naming Hogwarts subjects, and starts dealing with the real world, is the day Dementors start singing!"

"Oh, thanks for that image, Derek—"

"Muggles have got to be the most boring people on the planet! And that includes Binns!"

Quirke has had enough. It doesn't help that the other professors are just sitting there, watching his discomfiture. "I'm not surprised the Ministry of Magic wanted on-the-ground feedback about this place!" he says loudly, furious. "You are all spoiled, bigoted, stupid brats, and I'll tell the Minister so!"

With that, Quirke storms out of the room, leaving behind a sudden silence.

"Oh my Godric," Anne du Winters says blankly, just in front of Lily. Lily watches Professor Trelawney get up, hugging her shawls around her and staring at where Quirke disappeared.

"The art of Divination…"

"Oh my Godric indeed," Vulpecula agrees. "He's a spy!"

"The Ministry's big on spies; for some reason, they don't trust the educational system," Luther comments.

Lily is focused on a different aspect of the matter. There's something about what just happened to Quirke—"Did you see how he completely failed to discipline anyone?" she whispers. "I mean, he calls himself a teacher…"

"Pathetic," agrees Luther. "He's not doing much for the "Non-Magical" cause, is he?"

"But he's right, though—sort of," Anne argues, twisting around in her seat to look at Lily. "I mean, a person could get stranded in the Muggle world—back before the Statute of Secrecy, Muggles used to burn witches and wizards—and lots of other people. The worst was when they found Wizarding children, because they didn't have wands and couldn't defend themselves."

"Oh, that's awful!" Vulpecula says, looking horrified.

"In that case, he's really not winning the Muggles any points," Luther drawls. "They must be a nightmare."

"That's not the point, though—" Lily whispers excitedly. "No, see, he totally muffed it, and no one cares whether he's right or not! And that's all that matters! Public opinion!"

"What?" Anne asks, confused.

But Lily isn't paying attention to her, or to Trelawney, still going on about Inner Eyes and portents of doom…Instead, her mind is filled with racing thoughts. Because Lily has finally figured it out. She knows how to save Slytherin House.


	12. In Which There are Schemes

Warning, serious content ahead! This fic goes to a dark place for a few chapters. But there is hope!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: In Which There are Schemes and Counter-Schemes**

"Okay, is she completely insane, or what?" Luther asks, unable to hold back the words anymore. Lily has flounced off to recruit her cousin Louis to the cause, and he and Vulpecula are sitting slumped in armchairs, trying to assimilate what just happened.

"I think it might work," Vulpecula shrugs. "I mean, sure, it's tremendously dangerous and could backfire completely, thus destroying all our efforts so far and then some, but what's life without a little risk?"

"Gryffindors," moans Luther, not caring that there isn't anyone to commiserate with. He's alone with Vulpecula, who sounds like another crazy Gryff, just like Lily. Lily never would have thought of this suicidal plan if she hadn't been living with Sally Simpkins for six months.

"It's okay," Vulpecula says gently. "Luther, really. I have a piece of my cousin's hair, Louis is really good with Transfiguration, and I honestly don't think any of them will tell. Well—it'll be weird if Louis doesn't, because he's Head Boy and all, but then, he's not her brother, so it could be worse."

"That's right," says Luther bitterly. "Not only is this completely illegal, highly unlikely to succeed, and downright nuts, but it'll probably destroy the Potters, too."

"I don't know," says Vulpecula thoughtfully. "I think it would take rather a lot, to destroy the Potters."

* * *

That week is surprisingly normal, for everyone who isn't in on Lily's plot. Even for her trusted co-conspirators, things seem…surprisingly sane. There are fewer duels in the dungeons, and people start whispering and eyeing the known Gryffindor leaders, Hamilton and Goldstein and Corner, and even Wood, askance. They don't dare do as much to the known Slytherin leaders—Bree, Magnus, Tairi, and the other seventh year Slyths are suddenly being ignored and avoided.

Lily is too busy to notice, of course, even when Rochelle Rider of Ravenclaw comes up to her during break and whispers, "I don't care if I am being hopelessly biased and unfair, I hope you make Rich Hamilton wish he was never born!" and stomps off, flipping her hair and carrying an Encyclopedia as heavy as she is.

Still, as Luther points out, it isn't a good sign, the way the Gryffs have stopped hexing Slyths and first-years in the corridors. They have to be planning something too. Bree, who isn't in on Lily's scheme, is especially worried.

"I'm telling you, Potter," she whispers in Lily's ear, while Professor Longbottom explains Shield Charms in the Room of Requirement, "Hamilton's up to something. I asked him to pass the salt the other day, and he _did,_ without a single hex or comment! He barely even looked at me. Something is going on."

"Relax, Bree," Lily says softly. "Melanie's on it."

Bree doesn't look entirely reassured; she's aware that Lily and several of the other younger Slyths actually look up tremendously to Melanie Jordan, but personally, she's never liked her. And besides, she's a Gryff. Bree doesn't trust anyone in red and gold, these days. You can never be too careful.

* * *

Finally, on Friday, the tension has reached a snapping point. Luther stares around the Potions classroom, waiting for his cue from Dana.

There's steam and oddly colored smoke rising from everyone's cauldrons, and Luther can hardly see all the way to the front of the classroom, and Professor Joshi-Yap. Still, he figures that's all to the good.

He's not sure even Joshi-Yap would approve this particular extracurricular.

"Come on," he mutters under his breath. Dana said she could do this!

Suddenly, there's a loud fizzing, and bits of Delia Park's potion scatter all over the classroom. Girls shriek and Joshi-Yap makes her way through to the heart of the commotion, while Luther slips past the just-open door into her office, giving Dana a significant look—the closest he can come to a conspiratorial wink. Slytherins, after all, do not wink. Ever.

It doesn't take long to find the potion—everything is really organized, nice and neat—and Luther slips it under his robes, and returns to class without mishap.

"Phase One complete, L," he murmurs under his breath.

* * *

Tairi smiles at the assembled house-elves. She knows better than to explain what she's really doing in the kitchens right before dinner, but coming up with a believable story is harder than she expected.

Of course, if it weren't for Lily's Aunt Hermione, she would've grown up tricking house-elves into helping her prank Grandfather, but ever since that whole every-house-elf-is-entitled-to-a-salary-and-sick-days-and-pensions-and-all-the-rest-of-it Act, Grandfather has absolutely refused to employ any in the Manor. He claims it's on principle.

"See, my boyfriend really likes this special spice mix I make for him," Tairi explains. "And it would mean so much to me if I could put it in his pumpkin juice—as a special treat, you know, because he's turning eighteen today." Behind her back, Tairi crosses her fingers.

"What about Mr. James Potter, Miss Malfoy?" asks an old, female house-elf with hollowed eyes and a very dirty shirt and skirt set.

Tairi freezes. Are details of her love life just passed around like—well, like gossip, thus completely undermining her personal privacy?

"No," she lies quickly. "We're just really, really good friends." Such good friends, in fact, that here she is, lying about their relationship for his baby sister—who had better be grateful. James gets jealous easily, and if he hears about her non-existent boyfriend-who-likes-spice-mix…

"Please?" she begs, widening her eyes and doing her best impression of her baby sister Vulpecula when she wants something. V's pout can win over even Grandfather, something Tairi has never understood.

"This way, miss!" squeaks one of the house-elves, luckily not the smart one who knew all about her and James—Tairi supposes house-elves get _Witch Weekly _same as anyone else.

And, with a graceful flick of the wrist, it's done—her 'spice mix' is in the pumpkin juice about to be sent up to the Gryffindor table.

Tairi grins to herself. How's that for going above and beyond, she thinks. Whatever Lily's plan is, Tairi's happy to support James's little sister. And if it means causing trouble for the Gryffs, well, she's not one to shirk her duty!

* * *

"Did I ever tell you how much I loathe Tranfiguration, Cincy?" complains Rich Hamilton to his latest girlfriend, Cincy Adams, who transferred from America, hardly ever speaks, and carries around bulging bags with names no one has ever heard of, like Gucci and Prada.

"Mmm," says Cincy.

"I mean," says Rich, taking a swig of pumpkin juice, "Longbourne is so—" but then he happens to glance down at his hand, and lets out a high-pitched shriek. His skin has turned a bright, merry green, and little tendrils of what might be grass, or possibly Devil's Snare, are sprouting all over him. It doesn't hurt, but it is highly unsettling.

Rich's gaze sweeps the rest of the Gryffindor table. Almost everyone is suffering the same fate he is—Corner, Goldstein, Wood, even Potter (Albus)…Cincy is unaffected, probably because she's American and hates British food of all kinds, even Butterbeer, and consequently hardly ever eats anything.

And—yes, Rich has spotted Potter (Lily). She's laughing and chatting unconcernedly with the younger Malfoy girl, the brunette one, and drinking coffee. Her skin remains a normal color and texture.

"POTTER!" Rich roars, getting up and striding toward her. Those he passes blink; he looks like nothing so much as a walking, very angry bush.

"Oh, Godric, oh Godric, oh my Godric!" Anissa Goldstein is saying over and over, staring at her arms in horror.

"POTTER!" Rich shouts again, shoving Potter (Albus) out of the way and heading for that disgraceful little girl, still laughing—he'll show her!

"Settle down!" Several teachers are heading for the Gryffindor table now, Beaumont, Longbottom, Parkinson-Bulstrode…

Rich doesn't care.

"You—you—" he says inarticulately.

Finally, Potter (Lily) gets up, swinging her legs gracefully over the bench and then breaking into a run. "Help!" she screams. "Help, he's going to kill me!"

Rich thinks it's an awfully good idea, and he can feel at least half the Gryffindor table's agreement. Behind him, Ken Corner, a seventh year, actually growls.

Before Beaumont, Longbottom, or Parkinson-Bulstrode can rush to her rescue, Lily Potter has dashed out into the Great Hall, running at full tilt, chased by green, sprouting fifth, sixth, and seventh year Gryffindor boys.

In the uproar, no one notices Vulpecula Malfoy and Louis Weasley slip out and down to the dungeons by the back way.

* * *

Headmistress Beaumont can't remember being this irritated. She's about to go crazy and start Stunning the entire student body, she can feel it.

She and Professors Longbottom and Parkinson-Bulstrode are racing after the crowd of green Gryffindors who are racing after Lily Potter. At first, it was just Rich Hamilton, but Headmistress Beaumont is positive she's spotted the Head Girl, Melanie Jordan, and even Roxane Weasley, trying to race ahead of Hamilton, Corner, Goldstein, and the rest, screaming about how, if anyone's going to murder her cousin for this, it's going to be her.

Honestly, Headmistress Beaumont admits to herself, she would far rather murder Dave Montague, and whoever else came up with this lunatic plan to abolish Slytherin House, staring with the Minister for Magic and working her way on down.

She's even too out of breath to scream, "Detention!" at every single member of that leafy horde, and she only hopes she can get to Miss Potter before anything too terrible happens.

Why, oh why didn't she retire and open a Charm shop, instead of agreeing to this horrible job?

"Come out wherever you are, Potter!" cries Rich Hamilton gleefully. Ahead, everyone has come to a stop. Headmistress Beaumont does a quick count—Hamilton, Corner, Goldstein, Potter (Albus), Jordan, Weasley, Breckenridge…but gives up when Hamilton tugs on the door of the classroom, and then he and half a dozen others disappear.

"STOP THAT THIS INSTANT!" she shouts, having regained her voice, after being stationary for a few minutes. "DETENTION, ALL OF YOU!"

But before she and Professors Longbottom and Parkinson-Bulstrode can restore order, the door opens, and Headmistress Beaumont hears a gasp.

Suddenly, there is absolute silence, and the leafy students don't protest as she pushes her way through them to the open door.

Hamilton and his friends are standing in a rough semicircle just outside the dark room, staring at the body at their feet.

Something in Headmistress Beaumont's chest grows cold. The body is Lily Potter—unmistakably dead.

* * *

_Remember, it's not over! Stay tuned for the coming chapters!_


	13. In Which There is Owl Post

**Chapter Thirteen: In Which There is a Great Deal of Owl Post**

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Potter,

It is my deep sorrow to inform you of your daughter, Lily's, death. I can't begin to comprehend how you must feel, and I want you to know how deeply Lily will be missed by all of us here at Hogwarts School. She truly was an exceptional girl. Her death was a tragic accident.

Please let me know your wishes regarding her funeral. I will expect you both tomorrow.

My condolences,

Aglaia Lucina Beaumont, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

* * *

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Potter,

I will always treasure the brief time I had to get to know Lily. She was an extraordinary girl, very bright and creative. I found her work exemplary in class and out of it, and her passion for learning invigorating.

She was truly an example to everyone around her. I often saw other students following her lead, and I believe she would have gone far in any career she chose. It was an honor to know her.

I shall miss Lily.

My condolences,

Sable Joshi-Yap, Professor of Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

* * *

Dear Harry and Ginny,

I'm so sorry. I should have been faster, I should have stopped it—

No. I won't cheapen your pain by trying to make it my fault.

I know how you must feel, and I just wish—

I'll miss Lily.

Find me at the funeral, I think I might know something about the accident.

Neville

* * *

Dear Potter and Weasley—ahem, Harry and Ginny—no, Potter and Potter—

I heard about your daughter. I'm so sorry. If there's anything Astoria or I can do, please, don't hesitate to let us know.

Lily was a good friend to Vulpecula. _And a lovely girl. -A_

Our sincerest condolences,

Draco and Astoria Malfoy

* * *

_That_ wre**TCH**ed **girl** is deAd an_d_ it's ALL **YOUR **_FAU_LT, Harry Potter. _You _thought sHe wo**uld** bE _safe_. I'M only _sorry _I DIDn't ge**t th**e op_po_rtUNity to **KILL **her my_self. _So wHY don't you go BAck **where **you ca_me_ froM, _Mud_**bloo**d-loving, snEAKy, nasty, ly_ing_, little ScU**m**!

* * *

Kingsley—

It's urgent that I speak to you at once. Lily—my daughter has been murdered.

Harry

* * *

_Again, be patient for the coming chapters; and thanks to everyone who reviewed! Your concern for Lily is deeply appreciated. ~Riona_


	14. In Which There is a Funeral

**Chapter Fourteen: In Which There is a Funeral**

Tairi can hardly believe she is going to Lily Potter's funeral. Something is wrong with the world when twelve-year-olds—or is Lily thirteen now? She's sure V said something about Lily's birthday last week—die.

And worse—Tairi knows it was Rich Hamilton who murdered her. He has the audacity to continue walking and talking and eating and sleeping and giving his teachers a hard time, and Lily is dead.

Tairi has already vowed vengeance, along with the entire rest of Slytherin House—except Vulpecula and Luther, who are both too quiet and shell-shocked to do much of anything.

Now, though—now she is here for James. Eyes wide and staring, he hardly seems aware of walking as more than a reflex, much less anything else. Tairi guides him to their seats, in the front row, beside his brother, Albus, and his parents. His mother is crying silently, Albus is frowning at the ground, and his father is staring, with the same total shock that is on James's face.

Up front, the little old man who does this sort of thing—Tairi's seen him at weddings, too, and assumes he's a general purpose formal occasions kind of guy, not that she cares—drones on, all about how life is too short, and Lily was a genius, a star, a perfect girl—

Tairi thinks of Lily, tries to imagine her as the perfect girl, and almost laughs.

Then a deluge of memories assails her—meeting Lily for the first time in Diagon Alley, she and Vulpecula hitting it off at once…Lily's Sorting, which James took surprisingly well, and then Father and Grandfather throwing tantrums the next day over the _Daily Prophet_ article about Vulpecula and Lily being exchanged at birth…Defending Lily from James's awful cousin, Dominique…Lily's campaign to save Slytherin House, her pride at having convinced Professor Longbottom, a die-hard Gryffindor if ever there was one, to help…Lily's frequent fits of the sullens, comparable only to Grandfather's in intensity, and considerably longer-lasting, too…Lily's Christmas present to her and James…

Tairi smiles through her tears, thinking Lily was almost like another little sister. She and V were incredibly close—so much so, that V and Luther aren't even at the funeral. Tairi won't ever forget V's expression when she said she just couldn't face it.

To distract herself from her thoughts, Tairi scans the crowd. Besides the Potters, there are most of Slytherin House, all looking rather murderous, and all the teachers, and of course James's cousins…Tairi spots Dominique, who looks less upset than bored, and scowls. She doesn't hate Dominique for wishing James had a different girlfriend, or for giving her a hard time because she's a Malfoy—she can take a curse or two. But the way Dominique treated Lily, her own baby cousin, is unforgivable.

Tairi hopes that wherever Lily is now, it's a better place.

* * *

"It's not every girl who gets to see her own funeral, huh, Lily?" Luther asks mischievously. "How does it feel?"

Lily, face pressed against the bars on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower and old Omnioculars from when her dad saw the Quidditch World Cup pressed to her eyes, swings her feet, dangling many stories above the ground, against the stone walls of the castle, and doesn't say anything.

"Well," says Vulpecula lightly, from Lily's other side. "At least you know people care if you live or die."

"Yeah, nothing like committing fake suicide to know who loves you," Luther says sarcastically.

"Stop, you guys, you know this is just Phase Two," Lily says crossly. "They'll be fine."

Luther laughs. "Of course, you want them to be fine, do you? Salazar, Lily, you're such a hypocrite!"

"It's not forever," Lily protests, stung. "I have a plan."

"Oh, Lily, I think they're going to try and make your father give a speech!" cries Vulpecula, squinting down through her own Omnioculars, and adjusting the sound on her Omniaurals (a new invention her own father had a hand in creating).

"Poor man," Luther says, shaking his head. "That's awful."

"What—" Lily takes a breath. "What do you think he'll say about me?"

"That you're the biggest liar since Severus Snape," Luther mutters.

Vulpecula reaches across Lily to kick him. "He was one of the good guys, remember?"

Lily waits, her Omnioculars so tightly pressed against her face that they'll leave marks around her eyes, for her father to give her eulogy.

She can't believe this is really happening.

* * *

"I can't believe this is really happening," Harry says bleakly. "I have been blessed with a wonderful family, and that I'm losing a member of it—well, I suppose I must be thankful that we had as much time together as we did.

"But," he continues, voice getting stronger and eyes turning hard, "I also swear that I will find whoever did this. My daughter will be avenged!" He looks down, as though ashamed of the violence of his speech. "I love you, Lily," he whispers, and leaves the stage before he can say anything else and put his vengeance mission in jeopardy.

He feels at once cold with fury, numb with pain, and heavy with guilt. If he weren't the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World—this would never have happened. Lily would still be alive.

He isn't sure he can ever forgive himself for that.

* * *

Luther and Vulpecula leave Lily at the entrance to the Room of Requirement. "You're sure you're good?" Vulpecula asks. "Eating right and everything?"

Lily hefts the shopping bag filled with food from the kitchens that Vulpecula got for her. The house-elves may have to accept payment and holidays now, but they all still go out of their way for a pureblood like V.

"Yeah," Lily says. "Remember to lay the groundwork."

V nods, and Luther gives her an enigmatic look, before they both walk away, steps matching and heads bowed in pretend (at least mostly) grief.

Lily stares after them for a moment, remembers she really shouldn't be standing around like this in plain view of anyone who gets back from the funeral early, and paces in front of the wall three times, thinking about her sanctuary.

The door appears, she enters, sets down her shopping bag, sits on the bed, and cries.

Lily never dreamed her scheme was going to be so painful—for her or for her family. Guilt assails her. There must have been another way—this is never going to work, and her reappearance is going to take some finesse, no question—is she really just going to let her family go on thinking she's dead? Who knows what Dad will do to Rich Hamilton, who, Lily is certain, deserves whatever he gets—but what if Dad does something really illegal and has to arrest himself? What if she's careless enough to wander out of the Room of Requirement without the Polyjuice Potion Luther swiped for her, now containing V's cousin's hair? Someone might see her and her whole scheme would be for nothing!

Lily shivers, feeling very alone.

To distract herself from her thoughts, she rummages through the few things she dared pack, knowing her trunks will be sent back to her parents. Maybe there's something here she can spend her time on—she's desperate enough to try homework, although it isn't like she can hand it in.

She pulls out a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_, then frowns when a scrap of paper falls out.

Lily would be the first to admit she isn't very neat—or maybe the last to admit it, since Slytherins have a problem voicing their flaws—but she knows what's hers and what isn't.

She doesn't remember this scrap of paper, and she knows last time she read _Quidditch Through the Ages_ she used a rag soaked in red ink as a bookmark. So what is it doing there?

Lily picks it up, gingerly, and unfolds the page. There, magically fixed to the spare bit of parchment, are more careful, oddly-shaped letters. Lily reads them, going cold.

**Meet **me toNig_ht_ outSIDe **the** _CAstle_ **gates** at midnight **OR some_one_** you L_OVE _dIEs. TeLl no One, you **pa**the_tic_ freaK of **nat**ure.

For a moment, Lily can't move a muscle, panic fixing her in place. Then she remembers—this can't mean tonight, how could it, everyone thinks she's dead—and if anyone who is in on her scheme decided to betray her, they would send her a blackmail note or tell the Headmistress, not tell her to meet them somewhere all mysteriously.

But then that means she's already missed the appointment, which means someone she loves is in danger—

Lily's breath stops for a moment, dizziness overtakes her—

But surely, if her anonymous, creepy stalker thinks she's dead, they have no reason to hurt her family—and she saw them, all there at her funeral just an hour ago—

So they must be all right, mustn't they? What about Luther and Vulpecula—her other cohorts, Louis and Melanie and Anne and Tairi and Bree and Magnus and all of Slytherin House? But she would know, if any of them were missing—even Lily's funeral isn't enough to ignore a missing student, they'd assume it was the same person, Lily's murderer and the kidnapper—

Dad thinks she's been murdered, he must be in hell—after what happened to his parents, how could she have been so selfish?

Who _is _her awful creepy stalker anyway? Too late, Lily wonders if she should have told someone about that, at some point…before her 'death.'

Salazar! She'll start to believe it herself, before long. Good thing Tairi wasn't in on that part—she and Bree and Magnus will think the big prank was the Gryffindor's pumpkin juice, not her death—Lily didn't tell Scorpius, or even Rose, who is weirdly practical enough to have gone along, for precisely the same reason: they wouldn't have kept it a secret from Al, same as Tairi wouldn't from James.

She honestly doesn't believe any of them, even her brothers if they somehow knew, would betray her to her stalker. Lily may be dead, and only thirteen, and hiding out in the Room of Requirement instead of telling the truth and taking her punishment (something at which she's never excelled), but she won't give in to someone who's been threatening her for months, lest her fake funeral become her real one.

Besides, it doesn't even take a Slytherin to read the rest of the note, the part in invisible ink reading, "P_.S_., this IS a **trap**."

Lily grins, a little of her confidence slipping back to her like a favorite cloak. Maybe, just maybe, with a boatload of luck and a little help from her friends, Lily's scheme will work after all.


	15. In Which There are Interviews

**Chapter Fifteen: In Which There are Interviews**

"It's just so awful!" Anne du Winters sobs on the Wizarding Wireless Network. Really, the anchorwoman has been incredibly nice to her ever since she explained, between gulping breaths and hysterical tears, that she is—was!—a friend of poor, innocent, sweet Lily Luna Potter.

She hopes Lily is listening—that innocent comment ought to give her a laugh.

"You see, if it w-weren't for the Gryffindors, this w-would never have h-happened!" Anne cries, making sure to hit those hard consonants. Diction is key to speaking while sobbing.

"Please, Miss du Winters, elaborate on that," the anchorwoman says smoothly. She's lapping up the sensationalism, Anne can tell. "Are you saying that Gryffindor House is directly responsible for the tragic death of little Lily Potter, daughter of Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding world, earlier this week?"

"Y-yes!" Anne sobs. "They did it—Lily was j-just twelve, like me, and th-they _murdered _her! The Gryffindors are all t-terrible bullies—I was in St. M-mungo's for w-weeks because of them, but L-Lily—they killed her!" And Anne descends into incomprehensible wailing.

"Who was it who cast the curse that killed Miss Potter, do you know?" the anchorwoman asks, leaning forward eagerly.

"Does it m-matter?" Anne cries. "She's d-dead! How c-could they? They h-hated her because she w-was a S-Slytherin, and so th-they murdered her! She was the b-best friend a H-Hufflepuff like me could ever have, and a r-really, really good person, but they d-didn't care! They all h-hated her, and all the Slytherins, because of You-K-know-Who, and then s-she got re-Sorted into G-Gryffindor, and that was _worse_! They _t-tortured_ her!"

"Tell us more about this torture, Miss du Winters," the anchorwoman invites, sounding like Christmas has come early. "Was Miss Potter hurt before her death? Did the Gryffindor students make a habit of tormenting her?"

"Oh, yes," Anne says, almost forgetting to cry. "All the time." She takes a deep breath and goes right into another sob, before she can get too aggressive telling the public about Hamilton and Corner and the rest. Some of Lily's cousins are a little violent, as well, but perhaps she shouldn't mention them. "They s-stole her books, and h-hexed her in the halls, and t-tripped her, and tried to embarrass her, and it got so no S-Slytherin was ever safe in the h-halls, or even their own r-room! T-they said awful things, like that Lily was d-demon spawn, and d-descended from S-Salazar Slytherin, and s-secretly a Malfoy, and that she should l-leave school or else! Sometimes they even said she should d-die!" Anne really is quite indignant when she remembers this. "Hurting Lily was like, the h-hobby for all the Gryffindor f-fifth and seventh years, especially—they said it was a s-study break!"

"That's truly awful, Miss du Winters," says the anchorwoman. "And, unfortunately, all we have time for. Thank you for those stunning insights into what must be a very painful subject. Now, listeners, we leave it to you to decide who deserves the blame, and the punishment, for Miss Potter's tragic death—although the answer seems clear. Indeed, we go so far as to invite anyone who wishes to confess to the crime to contact this station, in the hopes that future atrocities may be averted. Thank you for listening to the Wizarding News Network, I'm Carolyn Finch, reporting."

Anne excuses herself to go cry in the bathroom—they've run out of tissues—and only then does she smile to herself, just for a moment. Whoever said Hufflepuffs were terrible liars—was quite right, really, but then Anne didn't lie; all she said was true. This was all the Gryffindors' fault.

Well—and the Abolition Act. But she isn't supposed to elaborate on that yet—Lily has a whole plan.

* * *

"Hey, guys," Vulpecula says softly, hesitantly. Anissa Goldstein, Miranda Shiplake, Colleen Corner, and Sally Simpkins all look up at her, look down again, and then look at various parts of the floor and walls.

Then they each do a double take and look back up at Vulpecula's companion. The girl is about their own age, with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, grey eyes, pale skin and an aristocratic nose that dominates her face and makes her look stuck up. Other than the nose and the much fairer complexion, she looks a lot like Vulpecula. She's dressed in very fashionable looking black robes, with lace at the hem, neck, and sleeves. She's looking down at her shoes (also very fashionable) as though she's nervous.

"This is my cousin, Eve," Vulpecula says. "She's from France. Eve, that's Sally, Colleen, Miranda, and Anissa, my roommates." And she stops talking, as though she can't bear to say another word, and walks over to her bed, pulling the curtains closed.

All of them—even Sally—give Vulpecula's closed curtains a sympathetic look. Then, Vulpecula's roommates, who were never entirely enamored of Lily Potter—Miranda thought she was okay, but Anissa and Colleen didn't care, and Sally hated her-turn back to Eve, ready to interrogate her.

"So Eve," Sally asks brightly, "What are you doing here? I mean, don't you, like, go to school in France?"

"Oui—I mean yes," says Eve shyly. "But my parents thought zat I should try 'Ogwarts, to see if I like it better. The arrangements were all made many months ago, of course," she adds significantly, glancing toward Vulpecula's curtains.

"Of course," says Colleen comfortably. "So what year are you in?"

"Zis is my second," says Eve.

"Are you a Malfoy?" asks Sally. "I mean, how are you related to Vulpecula? I thought her dad didn't have any siblings."

"Yeah, and her mom's sister is Daphne Greengrass, who married Justin Finch-Fletchley and then got divorced, like, immediately," gossips Anissa. "Their son's two years older than us—Sam Finch-Fletchley?"

"Ooh, he's a hottie," giggles Colleen.

"Vulpecula is actually my father's father's brother's great-granddaughter," Eve rattles off. "We are zird cousins."

"And you…know about Lily?" Miranda asks, speaking for the first time.

"Yes," Eve nods. "Zis is very sad, no? To lose such a friend?" She looks toward Vulpecula's curtains again.

They all follow her gaze, going sober for a moment, and then Anissa shrugs and asks, "So, Eve, what're the spring fashions in Paris? Tell us _everything_!"

Eve smiles shyly and perches carefully on the only empty bed—the extra one, pushed under the window. It used to have Lily Potter's green and silver entrelac blanket, hopelessly unmade every morning with stacks of books and precariously perched ink bottles everywhere. Now it is anonymous, and only Miranda even notices that Lily has been replaced so quickly.

The other girls are soon lost in a happy world of satins and lace, Eve giggling shyly whenever they press her for more information. It's obvious she's never been part of a group like this, and Sally, Colleen and Anissa feel they are not only learning important information, but also doing a good deed, bringing Eve into the fold.

After all, she probably was supposed to spend time with her cousin—but Vulpecula won't be much fun for the foreseeable future. The girls are doing Eve and Vulpecula a favor, taking the blonde French girl under their wing.

Only Miranda wonders what Vulpecula must be thinking right now—and whether this whole Eve thing could possibly be worse timed. Is Lily forgotten so easily?

* * *

"I'm afraid it's true," Melanie Jordan says. She isn't crying, but her determined stoicism is almost worse than tears—or better, as far as Rowena Wheeler is concerned. How she got both the Head Boy and Girl to agree to an interview with her about the allegations of foul play by Gryffindor House in Lily Potter's murder—!

Well, it's definitely a coup, especially if she plays it right. "Care to elaborate?" Rowena asks, looking first at Melanie and then at Louis Weasley, sitting beside her. "Are you saying that Miss Potter's death was indeed the work of students under your own charge—Gryffindors getting a little too serious with the hazing, that is?"

"It's more than that," Louis says heavily. "I'm afraid…it's not just any one of them. The blame has to lie on all of us. We were so carried away in our campaign to get the Slytherins out of our dormitories—" he shrugs, and Rowena is quick to jump on his words.

"So you think the Abolition Act was a trigger for this tragedy?" she asks, Quick Quotes! Quill poised.

"Absolutely," Melanie says, leaning forward. "You have to believe us, we're good people ordinarily—but the Slytherin Invasion was just too much for some people. They—we—well, this is awful, but some people blame Miss Potter for—well, everything. You-Know-Who and everything. Which is ridiculous, I mean, she's Harry Potter's daughter! But one Slytherin in a room full of Gryffindors—"

"It's like instinct just kicks in," Louis agrees solemnly. "No choice. We're still programmed to fight Death Eaters, and we just don't get that the Slytherins—they're just kids. They can't keep up with us."

"And Lily paid the price," Melanie says sadly.

"Wow," Rowena murmurs, making sure she has all of it down. "This is going to be some story!" In her mind's eye, she sees the headline: **Death by Abolition: Why The Ministry Should Have Left Well Enough Alone, and the Little Girl Who Paid the Price.**

"I just hope this never happens again," Melanie says.

"As do we all," Louis agrees. "Lily—we are truly sorry."

* * *

"Oh, my Godric," Harry Potter breathes, staring at the parchment in front of him. He's so angry he can't even shout, a first for him, and at the same time completely flabbergasted. How could this happen?

"I thought she was in Azkaban!" Hermione Weasley exclaims. "Kingsley, how could you not warn us—!"

"She did it," Ron Weasley says, an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face. "Umbridge murdered Lily."

"I'll kill her," Harry says matter-of-factly. Hermione and Ron exchange looks, never having actually seen Harry get so angry he becomes calm again.

"Harry, you know I can't let you do that—" Kingsley says uncomfortably.

"Make an exception, just for me," Harry says bitterly. "Everyone does—why not now?"

"There has to be another way—" Hermione says determinedly. She's shaken, but she's sure she can find evidence that Umbridge deserves to be in Azkaban for the next eternity. Hermione has no idea how she got out of there in the first place.

"No. She took my daughter!" Harry says, still not raising his voice. "Kingsley, I'm sure the Cruciatus Curse isn't _always_ Unforgiveable. I'll be back," and he prepares to Disapparate.

"No, Harry, wait!" Ron and Hermione say together. "This isn't the way!" But Harry is gone.

Scared, Ron and Hermione turn back to Kingsley. "He's planning to torture her to death," says Ron, a look of awed horror on his face.

"Don't repeat this," Kingsley says hesitantly, "But, if it were my Ainslie or Alexis…well, I'd probably do the same thing."

"At least he doesn't know where she is," Hermione says hopefully.

The record of Umbridge's involvement in the Abolition Act and her subsequent trip to Hogsmeade and the Shrieking Shack—and the droplets of soul-transference potion spattered on the walls—lies before them damningly.

Apparently, Umbridge tried and failed to exchange her soul with Lily's, killing her in the process. Harry certainly knows where Umbridge_ was._

For her safety—and Harry's criminal record—Hermione rather hopes she's not there _anymore._


	16. In Which There is a Confrontation

**Chapter Sixteen: In Which There is a Confrontation Between Old Enemies**

"Why would Eve come now, of all times?" Tairi asks. She, Scorpius, and Vulpecula are enjoying a rare moment of privacy in the Slytherin Common Room. Tairi is so tired she has yet to write to Mother and Father, although she has been inundated with owls from home since the tragedy.

Mother wants to know if there's anything she can do, and keeps sending food, as though afraid her children will starve, like the house-elves will suddenly stop feeding them. Father expresses terse sympathy, letters awkward and stilted as though he can't quite believe he's writing this. Grammy Cissy just writes that her Floo is always open, if they need to get away, and there hasn't been any word at all from Grandfather, which Tairi thinks is just as well. She's not sure she could stand another argument about how the Potters are an affront to all of decent pureblood society, or another thinly veiled house-elf diatribe.

Still, Tairi supposes she'll have to write home soon and ask about Eve—why now? It seems tactless.

"Uncle Etienne and Father have been talking about it for ages," Vulpecula shrugs. "I guess the plan was all set."

"I guess," says Tairi doubtfully. "Is she doing okay? Settling in, and all? I feel like I should be babysitting her."

"Why?" asks Scorpius. "If there's one thing all this has done for us, it's kept the Gryffindors quiet. No more hexing in the halls. Too little too late."

"Eve's okay," Vulpecula says softly. "Don't worry, Tairi."

Tairi nods, not feeling up to shepherding Eve around anyway. "Hear about the Gryffindor Confessions? 'S what they're calling it, now," she says, for lack of anything better to say. She can't bear to think of Lily. It's never been this hard to talk to her siblings before, not even the time she got into that argument with Grandfather about the merits of Muggle music, or when Scorp said he wanted to grow up and be an Auror just like Harry Potter, the Amazing One, or when Vulpecula got Sorted into Gryffindor…

"Gryffindors, confessing," Scorpius says. "About bloody time. Lying, murdering hypocrites, the lot of them. And they call us evil." He stares into the fireplace, not understanding how it can be that this time, _Lily _is the one to suffer for the combined sins of all Slytherins since the beginning of time. Somehow, Scorp has gotten rather used to that particular burden of blame.

Vulpecula doesn't say anything at all.

* * *

"_Impedimenta!"_ Harry shouts, pointing his wand at the one person he hates most in all the world. He's found Umbridge.

She conjures a shield, tripping slightly on her own feet, her ugly toadlike face pale with fear.

To hell with this, thinks Harry. "_Crucio!"_

Umbridge doesn't get out the way fast enough, this time, and her screams fill the Wizengamot's lofty chamber. The members sit transfixed on their benches, staring.

"Arrest him!" breathes one wide-eyed wizard, shrinking back as far as he can without falling over.

"Are you insane, that's _Harry Potter_!" the witch next to him hisses back. "Arresting him would be like arresting Godric Gryffindor himself!"

"You mean impossible?" the young wizard on the other side of her says dryly.

An extremely old wizard, who can neither hear nor see very well anymore, bangs a gavel on the bench beside him (the witch next to him scoots over so far she falls into the lap of the wizard behind her, and thus is a promising romance born), and says loudly, "Come on, now, people, we haven't got all day. Let's settle the matter of replacing the benches with more comfortable armchairs, like young Albus Dumbledore used to favor, and then we can all go home!"

"Uncle Harry!" Teddy Lupin exclaims, racing in and waving his arms frantically. "Don't do it!"

Behind him, Ron and Hermione Weasley run forward, and behind them, Molly Weasley nearly trips on her apron (advancing years have made her shrink), and behind her, a few Healers slink in and try to look unobtrusive.

"_Crucio!_" Harry yells again, and in the ranks of the Wizengamot, many shake their heads and try to look like they know what to do in this situation. The few members who are thinking ahead moan things like, "Never, in all my days…" and "Remember when he killed the Dark Lord with _Expelliarmus_? Are we thinking vacation?" and "Maybe this whole Abolition thing wasn't the best idea we've ever had…"

"Harry, no!" Ron shouts. "Bloody hell!" And he grabs one of Harry's arms, forcing him backward.

Hermione grabs the other, yelling, "Harry, please! Don't leave James and Albus without their father! I have the evidence, she's going to Azkaban for a century at least!"

Teddy Lupin sends a quick Stunning Spell at Umbridge, who is much too drained to even attempt to block it. She collapses to the floor, and a few brave souls in the Wizengamot breathe sighs of relief.

Everyone else waits to see if it's really over before getting all thrilled.

The Healers rush forward to examine Umbridge; Molly Weasley strides over and looks down at her with disgust. "If I were twenty years younger, I'd take you out myself, bitch."

The Healers look like they want to back away, but are worried about drawing attention to themselves.

"SHE KILLED LILY! I'LL KILL HER!" Harry is shouting, but Hermione has managed to wrest his wand from his fingers.

"In front of the entire Wizengamot?" Ron says, trying to inject some practicality into the proceedings. "Harry, mate, even _you_ might not be able to get out of that one."

"Please, Uncle Harry, this isn't the way," Teddy says, staring at him.

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" Harry screams at them. "THIS WOMAN TORTURED ME FOR MONTHS! I STILL HAVE THE SCARS! THEN SHE SENT MUGGLEBORNS TO AZKABAN WHEN VOLDEMORT CONTROLLED THE MINISTRY! INNOCENT PEOPLE! AND NOW SHE'S _MURDERED_ _MY DAUGHTER_! HOW CAN YOU STAND THERE AND TELL ME—no," he whispered, falling to his knees. "Lily is _not_ gone! It can't be true!"

"I hope you lot bloody well realize this would never have happened if Lily was safe in her own dorm, not being constantly hexed by Gryffindors who weakened her defenses—as in, if Slytherin House hadn't been abolished," Teddy says bitterly, looking up at the Wizengamot.

"We do, my dear boy," says Edward du Winters, speaking for them all. "We do indeed."

* * *

"That's odd," Healer Pye says a few minutes later, having ignored the drama being played out around him. He's examining Dolores Umbridge's medical information. "It looks as though someone has been giving this woman liberal amounts of essence of belladonna—over a couple of days like that, it's going to be hard to revive her."

"We'll begin at once, Healer Pye," says Apprentice Healer Megworth.

"Yes, yes, of course," Healer Pye says, still looking bewildered. "I wonder how she ingested so much."

Unobserved in the shadows of the vaulting room, Ginny Potter looks at her companion, Narcissa Malfoy, with a certain grim triumph. Let Harry mess about with Unforgiveable Curses in view of the entire Wizengamot; lately, Ginny has been getting in touch with her Slytherin side.


	17. In Which G and S have a Food Fight

**Chapter Seventeen: In Which Gryffindor and Slytherin have a Food Fight**

"Tairi said Teddy said your father nearly killed Dolores Umbridge!" Vulpecula says in a rush. "Lily, what's up with that? I mean, when I asked Father about her, he just got all awkward and monosyllabic. He did mutter something about an Inquisitorial Squad, but I don't know—it sounds suspicious to me. Why would your father try and murder Dolores Umbridge in front of the entire Wizengamot?"

"I don't know," Eve shrugs. It's just the three of them, her and Luther and Vulpecula, so she drops the French accent. It really is a headache, talking and giggling and shopping with the likes of Sally Simpkins. She sleeps well, though—secure in the knowledge that, even if the Polyjuice Potion wears off, her dyed blonde hair and inability to pronounce the letter 'h' will fool any of her roommates. Except Vulpecula, but that's different.

"Just as well," Luther says. "Wasn't Umbridge a real terror in the war?"

"Yeah," Eve (Lily) says absently. Now that she thinks about it, it is strange, Dad attacking Umbridge—it's true he never liked her; he's always said the white lines on the back of his hand spelling 'I must not tell lies' are his least favorite scar, and he has a lot—but Lily can't see him attacking Umbridge now without additional provocation; unless— "The anonymous letters!" she gasps aloud. "It was her, all along—she tried to kill me!"

"What anonymous letters?" Luther and Vulpecula say dangerously.

Lily blushes. "I've been getting them since before Christmas," she confesses in a small voice. "Until I found the last one, a few days after my death, stuck between a few pages of _Quidditch Through the Ages_. They're all the same—curses and name-calling, about what I'd expect from the Gryffs except for the anonymous part…"

"Oh, my Dumbledore, I can't believe you didn't tell us! Umbridge sent you awful letters for six months? For Salazar's sake, Lily, we're your best friends!" says Vulpecula, sounding really hurt.

"If we'd known Umbridge was trying to kill you we could have made her take the blame," adds Luther. "Not that I mind Hamilton's squirming; best damn part of the whole scheme, as far as I'm concerned."

"No, no, no," Lily says exasperatedly. "Hamilton's part of Phase Three—Umbridge really took me by surprise, I—" she looks at Vulpecula. "I'm really sorry, V. I just—I didn't know what to do."

"It's okay," Vulpecula says, getting a little teary-eyed and pulling Lily into a hug. "I understand." She pulls back and stares into Lily's temporarily gray eyes. "And if you ever do that again, Lily Luna Potter, you'll wish you'd stayed looking like my cousin for the rest of your life and moved to Antarctica."

Lily laughs shakily, although she knows Vulpecula isn't kidding. "You guys are the best friends I've ever had, or ever will have," she says softly. "Thank you."

The three of them sit in the awkward, affectionate silence for a moment, and then Luther groans. "Oh, save me from the excessive estrogen," he says, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

Lily and Vulpecula kick him in retaliation, and the serious mood lifts.

* * *

Elsewhere, the mood is very serious. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, clears his throat nervously. "All in favor of the immediate repeal of the Abolition Act and restatement of Slytherin House?" he asks.

The Wizengamot is silent. First to raise his hand is Edward du Winters, looking tight-lipped and determined. More and more witches and wizards raise their hands. Last of all is Ernie MacMillan, reluctantly.

Looking around, Kingsley raises his own hand. Usually he abstains, but this is serious. Harry would be facing criminal charges right now, except somehow no one quite seems comfortable bringing them against him. Quite apart from his status as the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, and the Savior of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter is also Head of the Auror Department and close personal friends with the best Magical Law Consultant Britain has seen in generations.

Besides, in all fairness, he didn't actually _kill_ Dolores Umbridge…

Relieved, Kingsley nods at Maisie Wilkins. She nods back, equally solemn. "Very well," Kingsley says, "Motion passed. Unanimously. Slytherin House is reinstated, effective immediately."

There is a collective sigh—some of it anger and wistful contemplation of what might have been, but most of it relief.

* * *

**Abolition Act Repealed!**

Rowena Wheeler

_Earlier this evening, in a stunning and universally applauded move, the Wizengamot voted unanimously to re-establish Slytherin House. Recent difficulties have made the decision a natural one._

_The Minister of Magic had this to say: "We deeply regret all that has happened since the Abolition Act was passed. It has become clear that all four Hogwarts Houses are essential to a successful and happy school life, and we are sorry for the disruption. We can only hope that this decision will avert further tragedies, such as the death of Lily Potter. Thank you."_

_Lily Potter's tragic, accidental death took place in March when Abolition sent overzealous Gryffindors into a storm of fury. Since then, the wisdom of abolishing an entire Hogwarts House has been re-evaluated._

_David Brooks told the Prophet, "Slytherin has been part of the school for generations. If my grandparents could put up with it, I don't see what my grandkids are complaining about. I'll sleep a lot better knowing the Slytherins are back where they belong—that school hasn't been safe this year."_

_Concerned parents have expressed relief that the school is returning to its natural state. Although the move is too late for Lily Potter, we can only hope the Repeal of the Abolition Act will stop any further violence in our school._

_Lily, we are deeply sorry._

_

* * *

_

"YES!" Higgins shouts, punching the air. He stands on top of the Gryffindor House table, one foot in Rich Hamilton's cereal, and pumps a fist toward the air. He's just finished reading Rowena Wheeler's latest article, and he couldn't be happier. "Someone hand me up my glass—" Grinning, Summerby obliges. "Everyone," Higgins shouts, "I'd like to propose a toast—to Slytherin House, newly reinstated!" And he drinks deep.

The Slytherins, scattered at the other three House tables, all grin and raise their glasses, and even a few Gryffindors sip grudgingly. "Anything to get that bloke out of my dormitory," Rich Hamilton is heard to mutter.

Even the teachers look elated. Professor Beaumont is thinking how happy the Sorting Hat will be—sharing an office with him has been a nightmare all year. He doesn't speak, but something about the way he holds his brim and his tip slumps over just tugs on her heartstrings. The poor Hat has been having a hard September, October, November, December, January, February, definitely March, along with them all, April—and now finally May is looking up. She smiles, thinking she ought to step in and tell Terence Higgins to get off the table, but she can't quite bring herself to do it.

Professor Parkinson-Bulstrode is actually grinning; the sight is so hearteningly unexpected that Professor Longbottom is moved to offer his congratulations, almost positive she won't hex him.

Professor Longbourne nods decisively in approval, and even Professor Fenn looks happy. Professor Joshi-Yap has got tears in her eyes, smiling widely.

Only Professor Quirke looks uncomfortable. He still can't believe he hasn't been fired yet—somehow, he's getting the belated impression that High Inquisitors aren't very popular at Hogwarts.

Louis Weasley stands up, points his wand at his throat, and then speaks in a normal voice that carries to the far reaches of the Great Hall. "I'd like to propose a toast," he says. "To Lily Potter—may she rest in peace!"

They drink that, too—all the Slytherins, looking serious, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs with some respect, and the Gryffindors again grudgingly. Dana Dursley starts sobbing into her morning pumpkin juice, but Albus Potter just stares at the wall and only wets his lips.

"To us!" shouts Summerby, not to be outdone, "To the Slytherins! To Slytherin's Army!"

It's at this point that the spotlight-loving Gryffindors have had enough. "Oh, shut up," scowls Sally Simpkins.

"Gryffindor's Army!" shouts Johnathon Goldstein, leaping up on the table too. He grabs a breakfast roll and throws it at Summerby, and the food fight begins.

All the Slytherins get up, armed with their choice of breakfast foods, and charge the Gryffindor table, pelting its inhabitants with pumpkin juice and slices of bread. Most of the Gryffindors retaliate, while a few girls from each table get up, shrieking about their hair, what a terrible mess, don't any of you lunatics know how long it takes to get molasses out of your curls?

"'Onestly," Eve Malfoy comments to Colleen Corner from the safety of the doorway to the Entrance Hall, "I zink I will not be staying 'ere—zere is too much chaos."

Colleen nods. "I hear you," she says fervently.

Inwardly, Lily Potter grins.


	18. In Which Lily Returns

Note: Second to last chapter, here! We're almost done!

**Chapter Eighteen: In Which Lily Returns**

The Slytherin table is back in the Great Hall by lunchtime. "We're back, just in time for exams!" Lottie Rosier says sarcastically. The entire table is filled with loud voices, and the Great Hall is an explosion of green.

Scorpius Malfoy can be heard saying, "We should have a Quidditch tournament, give us the chance to get our own back—"

Bree Urquhart is still trying to get cereal out of her hair in between ecstatic cheering—

And the teachers have yet to tell the students-formerly-known-as-the-students-formerly-known-as-Slytherins to quiet down, which must be a record in and of itself.

Only Luther Dagworth is quiet, thinking of Lily and all they've sacrificed to get this result. It won't be long now, before she can return. He hopes the world will be ready for her.

* * *

Several days later, when Eve Malfoy has packed her bags and departed, and the entire school has settled down to the serious business of exam preparation, Lily Potter, hair returned to its natural dark red and artfully smudged shadows under her eyes, walks out of the Forbidden Forest and up to the doors of the castle.

She proceeds to the Great Hall without hindrance, takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

For a moment, no one seems to notice; then Sally Simpkins screams, pointing at Lily and babbling about ghosts and Inferi.

The noise swells, and Lily doesn't have to feign her sudden faintness—she feels like she's being assaulted by sound. Her eyes seek out her brother, sitting alone at the Gryffindor table in the midst of a crowd all clamoring to get a good look at her.

Al won't meet her eyes, and Lily shivers.

"Lily, you're alive!" Magnus Yaxley exclaims, beaming at her. "Er—you are alive, right?" he adds, no doubt thinking of Inferi also.

Lily nods.

"Excellent!" Magnus exclaims. "This is great, really—" and then he's swallowed by the crowd, and Tairi Malfoy has Lily in a crushing hug—she backs off only when the Weasley cousins, en masse but missing Al, surround Lily.

"Excuse me," says Headmistress Beaumont, "But I really must insist Miss Potter accompany me to my office—" and she sweeps Lily in her wake, closely followed by Professor Longbottom, who's snagged Al on his way past the Gryffindor table. Professors Joshi-Yap and Parkinson-Bulstrode are holding back the rest of the crowd, including Roxane, Louis, Hugo, Molly, Lucy, Rose, Dana, Melanie, Anne, Luther and Vulpecula.

Professor Beaumont waves her wand and a silver hawk streams away down the hall and out the doors, no doubt headed for Lily's parents. She gulps.

* * *

It only takes Harry and Ginny five minutes to Apparate to the front gates of Hogwarts and race upstairs to the Headmistress's office. "Lily's alive!" wasn't a very lengthy message, but it'll get them moving any time. They are accompanied by Hermione and Luna, who happened to be visiting for tea with Ginny at the time.

Harry doesn't even bother with the password; the gargoyle, recognizing him, also seems to sense he means business, and leaps out of the way without benefit of the password.

"LILY!" Harry shouts. "LILY?"

And there she is—his own daughter, safe and sound and not dead for two months—Harry's hugging her before he can think, and Ginny is right behind him.

Harry doesn't know how long it is before he finally lets Lily go enough to breathe; he does hear James say, "Oh, my Godric!" and turns slightly to see his eldest son standing in the doorway, leaning on Tairi Malfoy and eyes wide.

He turns back to Lily almost at once, though, in time to see Ginny pull her hand back and slap Lily, hard; the sound is shocking.

Furious, Harry rounds on Ginny. Her lip trembles, and she says, "Oh, Godric, Lily, if you ever do this again…"

"How could you!" Harry shouts. "She's been dead—she could be injured—I thought we agreed physical discipline was barbaric—"

Luna, meanwhile, is examining Lily. Although she isn't a Healer, Harry has every confidence in her abilities, so this sight affords him some relief.

"Everyone, please!" yells Professor Beaumont. "While I appreciate that this is an extremely emotional time, I must ask Lily to explain what's happened! So if you could all sit down and allow her to speak!"

About half an hour later, Harry, Ginny, Luna, Hermione, Neville, Albus, James and Tairi have managed to stand back and allow Lily space to breathe, which she does, sitting in the chair in front of the Headmistress's desk and looking nervous.

"What happened?" Headmistress Beaumont asks.

"I was kidnapped and nursed back to health by chain-smoking alien vampires," Lily says at once. Albus snorts, Hermione gasps, and Harry waits, reflecting that he's heard and seen much stranger things. Well—perhaps not much stranger. Lily continues. "After I—died—they rescued me from my grave. They thought I was one of them, because they could sense my magical signature, so naturally they assumed I would rise again. When I didn't, they used weird alien technology—like Muggle stuff, only way more advanced—to bring me back. I only just convinced them to return me here; they kept thinking I must belong with them on their spaceship."

"Vampires, huh?" Headmistress Beaumont says. "I see."

"The important thing is you're all right now," Hermione says forcefully. It's clear she's planning to either research alien vampires and the deleterious effect their habits of chain-smoking might have on the lungs of a thirteen-year-old, or else block the entire conversation from her mind. "We should probably get Madame Pomphrey to look at you just in case—come on, Lily dear—"

"Lily, I'm so sorry," Ginny is now sobbing. "If only we'd protected you—" Lily suffers herself to be hugged more, gray eyes still trying to find Al's.

James is there, too, and he, Harry and Ginny are all hugging Lily at once. "Thank Godric," James is saying over and over.

* * *

At last, the procession makes its way to the Hospital Wing. It's only Lily and her family; Tairi has gone off to find Vulpecula and Scorpius, Aunt Hermione to owl Uncle Ron, and Aunt Luna and Neville are still with Professor Beaumont.

A small, disloyal part of Lily wishes she were with them; she finds the affectionate attention of her family as cloying as it is reassuring. And Albus still won't meet her eyes.

* * *

"I can't believe it!" Neville says blankly. "She's not dead!"

"Everything's just falling into place, isn't it?" Headmistress Beaumont agrees happily. "Abolition repealed, now Lily Potter still alive…this has been a good week."

"Coincidence, I suppose?" mutters Professor Snape's portrait. He holds out little hope of being attended to, which is perhaps just as well; that vampire story aside, Miss Potter has impressed him, a fact he would prefer not to reveal.

"Naturally," Albus Dumbledore's portrait murmurs, those electrifying blue eyes gleaming. Even in portrait form, he still manages to seem as though he knows precisely everything that has occurred in the school, and why.

"This is more than our hopes," Luna says thoughtfully. "She is a strong girl."

"'Course," Neville says bracingly, grinning. "She's a Potter!"

But Luna remains staring into space longer than it takes to contemplate chain-smoking alien vampires and what food source, if any, they're able to find in space. She's thinking that Lily had better be careful how many more stunts she pulls like this—just in case.


	19. In Which Lily Goes Home

**Chapter Nineteen: In Which Lily Goes Home**

"To Lily, the girl who saved Slytherin House!" Louis Weasley says, toasting his little cousin.

"To Lily!" they echo: Melanie, Anne, Vulpecula and Luther—all those who were involved in Lily's scheme.

Lily laughs happily. "I couldn't have done it without you—any of you."

"What are friends for?" Anne says, a throwaway question. Lily thinks Anne has rather enjoyed the whole thing. No one expects a Hufflepuff to pull off deceit of any kind, after all.

"How did you do it?" Melanie asks. "Really—after Tairi spiked the pumpkin juice, and you ran from Hamilton and the others—"

Lily shrugs and looks at Louis, thinking it really isn't her story to tell—not all of it, anyway.

Louis clears his throat, embarrassed—probably for breaking so many rules. He is Head Boy, after all. "Well, Vulpecula and I got down there, and set up a bit of a lightshow," he says. "Lily came running in, followed by Hamilton and some friends of his—gits, all of them—and I did the Geminio curse on Lily—got a fake body. The two girls and I hid in the next room—used to be Professor Snape's office, I heard, and honestly that might be the worst part for my family, if they ever got to hear about this."

"Which they won't," says Lily, looking quite fierce.

"Naturally," mutters Luther rebelliously, but Lily isn't worried; she knows her friends would never betray her.

"Looks like Hogwarts is no longer a Slyth-free zone," Anne says archly. "How does it feel, Lils?"

"Never better," Lily says, grinning.

There's a small contented silence.

"Wow," says Melanie after awhile. "It's been an intense couple of months, huh?"

"Try the whole year," says Vulpecula, laughing.

Lily laughs, too, thinking V is absolutely right, but that it's still an understatement. She can't remember a time in her life when things weren't this intense.

* * *

Gryffindor wins the House Cup; some things never change.

At least this year, Lily has the comfort that she may have contributed to the victory, however inadvertently; next year, she decides, Gryffindor won't have such an easy win.

In spite of everything—her parents owl her every day, and most people stare at her in the halls—Lily quite enjoys her last few days of term. She and Luther and Vulpecula spend their time lounging around outside or in the common room, where they're finally allowed again.

One afternoon, when the three of them are lounging on a blanket under a tree on the grounds, Albus comes up to them. He looks livid.

Lily waits, eyebrows arched inquiringly. Inwardly, she's running through a list of possible misdeeds: this isn't about her friendship with Vulpecula Malfoy again, is it? Or maybe Al is jealous of all the unprecedented attention she's getting from the family…

"I know what you did," Al says, voice low and angry. "I know you faked your own death. Lily, how could you? Do you know what you've done to Mom and Dad—"

"How'd you figure it out?" Lily asks, trying to sound calm.

"Wasn't that hard," Al sneers.

"Let's hope there aren't more people of your opinion," mutters Luther.

"I know you, Lily," Al says. "You're not the type to die in some stupid accident."

"Thanks," Lily says, surprised and touched. "Al," she adds, standing up and putting her hand on his sleeve, "please, please don't tell anyone. Mom and Dad—it would destroy them."

"Don't you mean it would destroy all your hard work, getting Slytherin back?" Al says shrewdly. "If you cared about the pain you put them in, you would never have done it. I can't believe you! Months of thinking you were dead—that funeral, Godric—"

"I know," Lily says, eyes down. "I know."

"You'd better," Al says savagely. He looks at his sister, green eyes narrowed in a strange mix of dislike and affection. "I won't tell," he says eventually. "I'm no sneak." Casting Vulpecula a hateful look (Al has a problem with the Malfoys), he stomps off, ignoring Lily. He's said what he came to say.

"Wow," Lily says, slumping back onto the blanket. "Does he hate me now?"

"Can you blame him?" Luther says sardonically.

"I guess not," Lily says wonderingly. She's not as upset as she would have thought; somehow, being hated for something she's actually done is almost a relief. Most of her life, people have hated her for who she is—Harry Potter's daughter, a Slytherin, almost an honorary Malfoy—now she's done something. She is more than a label.

On the whole, it's a relief.

"Think he'll ever forgive me?" she asks.

This time it's Vulpecula who answers, "Of course. He's your brother, after all."

Lily isn't sure it's that simple—nothing ever is, with Albus. Shivering slightly, she settles back to hang out with her friends, wondering how much of her life she's changed.

* * *

It's the last day before the end of term, and Lily is sitting in her own bedroom, in the Slytherin dormitories, packing all the things her parents so recently sent back to her—along with stacks of chocolate and snacks. Humming a little, she folds another set of robes.

There's a sudden tapping on the window; Lily crosses to open it, surprised again, as she always is, at how easy the owls seem to find it, flying into the holes in the ground that are called the Slytherin windows.

She lets the owl in, recognizing her at once: it's Klio, Aunt Luna's owl. There's a package attached to Klio's leg, and Lily removes it curiously, absently stroking Klio's feathers.

She pulls at the paper, and a book and a note fall out. Lily picks up the book first; it's a beautifully illustrated copy of _The Boy Who Cried Hungarian Horntail._ She smiles, a little uncertainly. Lily never knows the reasons for Aunt Luna's gifts. Most are lessons, hidden truths—puzzles she has to figure out.

Lily picks up the note.

_My darling Lily,_

_For next time._

_Luna_

Lily swallows, getting the distinct impression that Al isn't the only one who figured out her scheme.

"I'm glad you're on my side, Aunt Luna," she whispers, and then looks up, right into Klio's eyes. Startled, she doesn't move. The owl looks back at her solemnly; then Klio flies out the window again.

Lily supposes Klio wasn't told to wait for an answer—or maybe she was. It wouldn't shock Lily to find out Aunt Luna could talk to owls. Or any animal, really.

Taking a deep breath, she sets the book and note gently inside her trunk, and heads down to the feast.

* * *

"Another year gone," Professor Beaumont says, beaming around at the four—count 'em, four—House tables in front of her. "And what a year it's been. We have much to be thankful for. Slytherin's return to us will only make us stronger. I urge you all to remember that, the more united we stand, accepting our differences and celebrating our similarities, the stronger we will be. I want to thank everyone in this Hall for their patience, and their understanding. And I want to add how overjoyed we are to have Lily Potter returned to us as well. We are so blessed. Thank you—all. For everything."

And she smiles around at them all, feeling the warm glow of having everyone in their proper place.

* * *

"See you next year!" Luther calls, on the platform. He's already walking toward his family. Lily and Vulpecula wave energetically at him.

"I just hope next year's easier," Vulpecula whispers to Lily.

"We're starting new subjects; Rose told me Arithmancy is wonderful, so we're going to be absolutely swamped," Lily says happily. "Easy? Never."

Just before Lily's family engulf her, Vulpecula yells, "Come see me this summer!"

Lily waves, and James says idly, "Of course. We'll all be spending ages at the Malfoys', planning for the wedding."

"Wedding!" Mom exclaims. "You're getting married?"

"It is Tairi, right?" Lily asks anxiously.

"'Course," James says, surprised. "She's only my soulmate."

"That pureblood brat, your soulmate?" Mom yells, outraged.

People start glancing over at them—even more than usual—and Al groans. But Lily just smiles. She's a Potter, she's a Slytherin—Lily wouldn't trade her life for anything.

**THE END**


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